Lost In A Hurricane
by OakleyPuppy
Summary: The life and story of Johanna Mason beginning from her reaping day until well past Mockingjay! I've been working on this for over a year so there is a lot of content! Some personal headcanons, otherwise all info is canon!
1. Chapter 1

I honestly don't know if anyone will read this but this is something I've been working on for a long time. Warnings for literally just about everything: cussing, nudity, sexual references and descriptions, self harm, suicide, prostitution, death, gore, violence, and basically everything else!

"Getting' heavy with the devil, you can hear the wedding bells"

~The Pretty Reckless

For my whole life I've loved silence. I've always believed that silence is so much more important than words, because when there is nothing else but the beating of your heart and the wind through your hair, there is an illusion of peace. I know that it's an illusion; but is it so wrong to savor the lie when the reality is impossible? That's all we get- a fantasy of happiness and peace when the rest of the world is trying so hard to rip it away.

The sun is peaking over the tops of the pines when I wake. Immediately my chest tightens, heat pulsing up through my throat. Today is the reaping- a _celebration_ as the Capitol calls it. Every year we are killed for sport. And every year President Snow, Caesar Flickerman, Seneca Crane- _everyone_ , cheers as we die. Each year I feel more and more helpless as I watch the children die. But no matter how angry or sad I get, there is nothing I can do. But even if there was, I have too much to lose.

Rising to my feet I make sure not to wake Lily. I make no noise pulling on day clothes and slipping out the door. Although I want nothing more than to crawl back in bed and sleep until the day is over, I know I still have work to do despite the events. I chew on my lip, keeping my mind distracted as I work through some basic chores.

Placing a small pile of logs into the old stone fireplace finally snaps me back to reality. I stare down at the metal washbin before setting about filling it and heating the water within. The water feels good against my sore muscles. I've worked hard the past few days making sure there is extra of everything- firewood, food, money- just in case I don't return today… I shake my head to myself and squeeze my eyes shut. It's like what Vinny said, "it's not going to happen, so don't worry about it." He's right, and I guess that's what friends are for but I still can't shake the feeling of dread that he might be wrong.

I have as good a chance as anyone to get picked. In fact, I probably have a greater chance with all the tesserae. But whenever I say so, Vinny always makes me feel better. He's probably the only person able to talk me out of my fear. We've known each other for years, our friendship blossoming as an alliance when my mother and brother, and his father died together. We've gone through periods where our relationship has gotten more intimate before we drift back into friendship. But despite any feelings either of us may have had in the past, he's the only person I can imagine spending the rest of my life with. Whenever I begin to panic or lose myself he always brings me back down. Without him I'd be lost.

Before I even finish washing my hair I hear the creak of the wooden floor. I wait, my head turned towards the bedroom door where Lily and Cam are both sleeping. When no footsteps follow the sound, I quickly finish, roughly pulling on my clothes before Cam pushes the door open, rubbing sleep out of his face.

His golden eyes are wide as he glances around the room, finally landing on my face. "You're up early," he mumbles even though this is the latest I ever sleep and he knows it.

I give him the kindest, most encouraging smile I can muster. "You just slept in," I say, keeping my voice quiet and gentle. We generally don't tiptoe around each other. There are no secrets and there is no awkwardness in our family, not that there could be any in such tiny quarters. That's how I know he's terrified.

Pulling my gaze away from him pinched face I replace the water in the tub, getting it reheated in time for Lily to get out of bed and join Cam on the old couch. The two of them take turns bathing as I attempt to construct breakfast. I've been saving money recently just in case, but I splurged on luxuries for this morning. A smile plays on my lips as their eyes light up when they see the strawberries and fresh bread. My father meets my eyes, obviously thinking that it was a waste to buy such things but I shrug in return. I wanted a distraction and if this helps even a little, then it's worth it.

I lean back against the counter, watching my brother and sister eat, my father sitting beside them with paternal concern over his rough face. I try to see the scene as a happy one but all I can feel is the panic shooting up through my chest. My father and I are the only ones left to support them. My mother and older brother died in an accident when I was twelve and since then I've had to carry the weight to support them. We at least have the luxury of being able to support my grandmother who is too old and sickly to work anymore. Many can't even do that. We have the luxury of her being alive, though only barley. She won't even be attending the reaping today. That's the clearest sign of giving up.

The possibility that my name could be called is too much to bear. It isn't only my death that paralyzes me, but the knowledge that my father would be left to support everyone on his own. Sure, Cam could help but they wouldn't pay him nearly as much as I've worked towards. If I left them then they would suffer and I can't let that happen.

The process of cleaning up after our late breakfast takes longer than normal. A smile finally pulls at my lips as I listen to Lily and Cam bicker over some trivial fact about the crazy woman who owns the bakery. I can't help but feel happy, content at least, listening to their soft voices and the familiar sounds of life inside our tiny cabin.

"You're good?" my father asks quietly, moving to stand beside me at the counter, eyes focused on Lily and Cam. "It's okay if you need a break today."

His eyes are dark brown, with harsh lines set into his features that make him look like he's perpetually frowning. There's never been anyone more sturdy than him. Even when my mother died and he lost the love of his life he remained firmly dedicated to his remaining family. Even when his parents were killed by Peacekeepers he never swayed. But staring into his face now I swear I can see all the age on his face. The roots of his muddy brown hair are beginning to lighten, his eyes are getting dull and his shoulders slouch ever so slightly forward like there's an invisible weight pressing down on him.

"I'm good," I say "really." I offer my best smile and turn back to the strawberry stained dish in my hand.

He grunts in return. My father is a man of few words but nonetheless I find his gruff gestures soothing. He was all I had after mother and Johnathan died. The rest of my siblings take after her, but I alone resemble my father. While the others have my mother's light hair and golden eyes, I inherited my father's brown hair and biting tongue.

My father pushes away from me, stepping out the door into the sunlight forest outside. He acts so strong all the time but something as awful as the Games can get to him.

With the dishes cleaned and put away, I focus on getting Lily and Cam dressed in their best without causing them undue stress. Only once they're prepared do I turn to myself. It's not easy to come across nice clothes but I've managed to keep one of my mother's tan skirts which I tuck a white blouse into. I brush my hair out, letting it fall down to my shoulders. My mother always loved my long hair- she said it reminded her of herself when she was young but I can't bear to see myself with any resemblance to her, so I keep it short.

In the distance a long and powerful siren blows. I freeze, focusing on breathing to keep myself calm. I straighten up, holding my chin high as I exit the bedroom and turn to focus on my sibling's terrified faces.

I get them out the door relatively easily, my father helping keep Lily from bursting into tears. On the dusty road I let her clutch my hand. Focusing on her keeps me calm- gives me the control I so desperately need to keep myself stoic and strong.

The sun is warm, approaching hot on my back. It feels wrong, for it to be so nice on such an awful day. It should be raining, cloudy at least. _Hell_ , it should be blizzarding if it were to reflect how it really feels.

Somewhere in front of us a child starts to cry, his shrieks sending shivers down my spine and settling as a rock in my stomach. Lily's hand tightens around mine, her face going pale as the boy's cried get louder. "I don't want to go" she says suddenly.

I pull her along, not letting her dig her feet into the hard dirt to stop. "I don't either," I say "but we have to. You know that."

She makes a face that momentarily makes me think that she's going to puke but instead she nods her head. "It's not fair," she murmurs.

I smile, "no it's not." I let go of her hand so that I can grab her by the shoulder and give her the closest thing to a hug that I can while we walk.

"You won't get picked, right?" I bite into my lip, hearing the fear in her voice.

"No" I say more sternly than I intend to. "We're all going to be fine." Cam is twelve. This year is his first in the reaping. I give him a quick look, but he seems to be holding it together. I wish I could say it got easier, that there was some way to get used to it, but the brutal truth is that we all just bite our tongues and keep our heads down until it's over.

We get quieter as we approach the city square. More and more people file in around us; some as quiet as we are, some whispering quietly, some are even laughing, doing all they can to distract themselves from what's to come.

We stop just next to the check-in tables, each of us saying brief, unwanted goodbyes before my father's takes Lily's hand and leads her away. Cam sticks close to me as we wait in line with the other children of District 7. I send Cam to the Peacekeeper before me, his golden eyes wide in terror.

Counted and checked, I walk him to his section in the back with the other twelve year olds before giving him a hug and heading towards the stage to my section with the sixteen year olds. I try to keep him in sight but as more and more people crowd around me, I lose him. I don't know if it makes me more or less anxious to have all these strangers pressed in around. There's something sort of comforting in their presence; there are so many of them, surely I'm safe. But the terror that they radiate is almost tangible and I can't help but feel like I'm choking in it.

Time moves too fast. Everyone always says that time slows down when they're afraid or something terrible is happening, but for me, the opposite is true. Each second that ticks by only hurtles me closer to the moment that I'm dreading. I'm so aware of the girls around me; their breaths, their tears, and their nervous shuffling. Even the anthem and the story of Panem told by our mayor seem rushed, as if we're all free falling into our fate.

Too soon does our eccentric escort, Karina Rose step onto the stage, her immense heels sinking into the soft wood. I can't hear a word she says. My ears are roaring with the sound of my heat hammering in my chest. I want this to end. I want to go home and lie in bed and know that everyone is okay. As she walks to the bowl, hands bouncing at her sides, I swallow deeply. Once this is one, I'll find Cam and we'll go home. Last night I went out with Vinny to buy enough food for a real dinner. Breathing deeply, I think about the small bit of beef.

Karina approaches the glass bowl, beaming out at us as she waves her fingers above the slips.

There's some small, bruised tomatoes, too. I've never liked them much, but the others do, so it was worth it.

The microphone crackles at her return, the paper slip crinkling in her porcelain hands.

But what I'm most proud of is the small, bite sized cake. It's hardly enough for more than a few bites each, but already I can see the smile of Lily's face as she eyes the frosting.

I don't want to hear the name of the girl on the slip. I don't want any of this. I want our dinner. I want to smile and eat and pretend that no one's dying.

Karina doesn't slow, though. Her far too pale fingers unfold the slip carefully, like the paper might fall apart if she holds it too tightly. She clears her throat and licks her lips for reading the card.

"Johanna Mason!" her voice rings over the crowd.

There isn't a sound. Everyone is waiting, making sure that it's not them or someone they love.

It isn't possible. There's so many names in that bowl, how can it be me? As the girls around me begin to notice my presence do I come to the realization of what this means.

There won't be a dinner.

I won't be going home.

I'm going to the Games.

I'm going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

"Think I'll miss you forever

like the stars miss the sun in the morning sky

Later's better than never"

~Lana Del Ray

I know that it's my name she called. I know that I need to move. But I can't. There is no fight or flight; I simply can't move, can't think. I'm so shocked that, at first, I don't feel afraid. I stand there, feet rooted in the tough dirt.

My breath escapes all at once, sounding more like a sob than an actual breath. Around me, girls are stepping away, even running into each other to put distance between themselves and me as if my misfortune were contagious. Their faces pass by me in a blur as I shuffle my feet forward, pushing myself into the sun baked aisle. Tears immediately rise as the Peacekeepers engulf me, but I can't cry- at least not yet.

It is everything I can do to keep my feet moving forward and to not crumple to the ground and beg for a redraw. Faces glance at me as I'm lead to the stage, relief clear and pity evident. I never wanted their pity before but right now I can't bring myself to care what they think about me. _Poor Johanna_ , they'll remember me as; the poor girl who lost her mother, and the girl who followed her brother into a too early grave.

The Peacekeepers leave me at the bottom of the steps, clearly expecting me to climb to the stage on my own. My eyes are blurry as I climb. My knees threaten to give out from under me as Karina puts me in my place at her side. I stare down at my hands, feeling stray tears begin to drop down my face. I know that if I look up into the faces of my district that I'll search for my family and if I find them… I can't say what I'll do.

Time slows down standing there on the stage. Every second that passes, each word Karina says screams my reality to me. I'm leaving. I'm going to die. I hardly register the name Karina calls out. But it does capture my attention for only a second.

Kane Lee is eighteen and huge. He has a head of dark hair that makes his perpetually angry expression even more formidable. Any hope I could've had of surviving is immediately crushed. There is no way that someone like me could ever survive against someone like him. Even as we shake hands he seems eager and aggressive. He smiles at me like he's already picturing bashing my head in.

I'm quickly whisked away by two Peacekeepers and locked in a room to wait for my family. Lily is the first to run through the door, sobs shaking her tiny body. I hold her tightly to me. My father has a hand on Cam's shoulder who has quiet but heavy tears running down his face, too. My father, however, is as stoic as always.

"Hey," I say, trying to push Lily away so that I can see her face. The ferocity at which she clings to me threatens to set me over the edge. I wish the world for her but she'll be lucky if she lives to eighteen at this rate. This world is too horrible for someone like her. "Please don't cry," I plead but she doesn't stop.

She lets out a pained wail. "What if you don't come back?"

"I don't know what's going to happen. But I'm going to do everything I can, okay?" I brush away strands of blonde hair away from her face, trying to offer up a smile but instead letting some tears of my own escape.

Cam meets my eyes, his mouth trembling slightly. "You promise?" he asks. I stare at him, his gaze so strong that it steals away my words. "You promise, right? That you'll fight. That you'll come home?" He looks so much like Johnathan right now; the passion and anger and such tender love.

I press my lips together to fight against the sob rising in my throat. I nod quickly. Finally, I rise, facing my father. I don't know what to say to him. I open my mouth, desperate for any words to come and tell him everything I want him to know, but nothing comes out. He shakes his head and removes his hand from Cam's shoulder.

"No" he says gruffly. He takes a huge step towards me so that we stand face to face. "I know who you are, Johanna. You are everything that I and your mother could have ever hoped you to be. You are the daughter I raised you to be." His voices softens as he speaks, sounding less and less brusque and more tired. This won't be easy for him, losing his oldest daughter only a few years after his wife, son, and parents.

He has endured so much and for the second time today I see the age reflected on his face. For the second time in my life do I see the heavily guarded walls in his face tumbling down. He didn't cry at Johnathan and my mother's funeral but he got quiet. He hardly spoke for weeks. And now I can see the lost hopelessness creeping back in, threatening to send him careening into oblivion. One by one his family is dying and there's nothing he can do about it.

"I love you" I say. Neither of us say it often but we both know it's true. "Just hang on, okay?" I reach for him and pull him into an even rarer hug.

"Worry about yourself. We'll be fine." He holds me tightly, tighter than I've ever felt before. I hold him back, breathing in his scent of wood and dirt. "No matter what, you're going to be okay."

I step back, looking into his face. He gives me a quick nod that I know is his way of saying that he believes in me. There's a sparkle of hope in his eye that sends shockwaves through my gut. Does he think I have a chance of winning? This will crush him, but having his support, knowing he believes in me… it means the world.

I know our time is nearly up so I turn back to Cam and Lily, pulling them both into bone crushing hugs. I kiss them both on the cheeks as the door opens. Two minutes is a joke. It's not enough time for a real goodbye. "I love you both so much. Be strong while I'm gone. It's all going to be okay." I can see the pain on their faces as my father urgently pulls them out of the room. They can't cause a problem with the Peacekeepers. Not today.

The door closes quietly and the room's silence descends upon me. They're gone. I fall back onto one of the couches, my chest swelling with the pressure of contained sobs. I might never see them again. I won't make them their dinner. There won't be any smiles and laughs and jokes as we waste the night playing games and talking.

I jump to my feet when the door opens again and Vinny walks in. He stands in front of the door, and we stare at each other from across the room. Tears burn against the backs of my eyes as he slowly crosses the space between us.

His mouth works, trying for words that he can't quite come up with. "You- you're going to be okay," he says decisively, like he already knows what's going to happen.

My legs give a dangerous tremble. I know he means well by those words but all it reminds me of is how not okay I'm going to be. "I don't know what to do," I whisper, my throat feeling too raw for words. In front of my family I had to retain an ounce of strength, but now that they're gone, it doesn't matter much. Vinny's seen me lose it before. He might be the only one alive that's seen me cry.

He lets out a sigh and brushes his tan fingers through his hair. "I'd tell you not to be scared. But that's bullshit. Of course you're going to be scared."

"I'm terrified" I admit, chin trembling.

I can see his jaw routinely clenching and unclenching in a way that only happens when he's furious. "What are you going to do?" he crosses his arms in front of him.

"What do you mean?" I ask, tears springing back up. "Vinny, I'm going to die."

"No you're not" he says aggressively. "You're going to fight. You are going to do everything you have to do to make sure that you win."

I bite into my lip and look away from him. "Of course I'm going to fight," I say, taken aback by the ferocity in his face, "I just don't know if that's gonna be enough."

He stays silent, his dark eyes searching my face. I don't know what it is that makes him soften- be it my terror, or the tears blurring my vision, but he uncrosses his arms and pulls me into a bone crushing hug. I want to push him away. We always agreed that we didn't need any sort of affection in our friendship, despite occasional moments, but the way he holds me, like I might fly away at any moment, helps me stop the tears and calm my heart.

He steps back and looks into my eyes. "You're my best friend. My only friend" he says softly. "I care about you, and I'm afraid for you. But I know you can do this. You're so strong Johanna."

Before I have time to register what he's doing, he presses his lips against mine, holding me like his life depends on it. I'm shocked at first, but it quickly melts away and I bring my arms up and wrap them around his neck. There's an urgency behind it, like we both know this might be our last chance.

Slowly, as if knowing our time is coming to an end, we step back, though still standing closer to each other than we normally would. "Sorry," Vinny breathes, "but I had to. Just in case."

I don't know what to say to him. His confidence means everything but I can't muster it myself. We stand there quietly, not sure what to do. He stands there so sturdy. It seems impossible that I'd ever seen him lost and broken and so done with life. I swallow heavily, forcing myself to see him as he is now.

"My family-" I start but my voice breaks.

"I'll do what I can" he says. "Don't worry about us, okay? Just make sure you come home."

"Okay" I say as he pulls me into another hug. We stand there for only a few seconds but it feels like an eternity. Vinny has been my rock when I couldn't turn to my family. Even now he stands by me, supporting me. When the door opens he lets me go, giving me a smile and a nod before letting himself get escorted away.

I fall back against a couch with my knees pulled to my chest. There is no one else as much as I hope for the door to open again. My only family came- my grandmother couldn't make it down here as much as she tried. And Vinny is my only friend, has only ever been my only friend. Everyone else who matters is already gone.

I dig my nails into my palm, doing anything I can to keep myself calm. I don't want to leave, I know that, but I can't help but feel prickles of irritation towards Kane for keeping me here by myself while he says his goodbyes to friends and family. _He_ probably isn't weeping. He's probably confident and laughing about how easy it will be.

I stare down at my lap, noticing a small rip in the fabric of my skirt, just above my knee. How long has that been there? I rub my fingers over it, willing it to mold together, willing myself to look like more than a girl in a ripped dress and tears on her face.

The door finally opens a half hour later. Two Peacekeepers stand in the doorway; the larger one jerks his head for me to follow. I stand hesitantly, feeling the tremble creep back in. Before I step out the door I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror hung on the wall.

My eyes are red and swollen but thankfully dry. I am small, both in height and weight and right now I look even more pitiful than I ever have. I breathe deeply and look forward as the Peacekeepers lead me away. I will not look weak. If I'm going to die, then I'm going down fighting.


	3. Chapter 3

"Are the rest of you so content?

Stay where you are but it hurts like hell

And I'm sure it's fun at first

Test your pulse and check your vitals

If it's only a game you lost me

I quit it with the suicidal recital"

~Icon for hire

The small amount of stature that I gained is immediately washed away once we reach the train station. The car allowed me a certain sense of fascination but once the cameras start flashing, my fear and anger rush back in.

Karina puts her hand on my shoulder, digging her fingers in when I try to shake her off. She pulls me and Kane up to the door of the train. At some point she angrily calls for Derek, forcing my scraggly mentor to stand behind us for the last of the pictures. These pictures will be plastered over the Capitol and T.V., giving the people of Panem another glimpse of us. Once we die, they'll be buried away, never to be seen again.

Karina seems reluctant to end the photo shoot but once she leads us inside she's all smiles and giggles again. She encourages us to make ourselves at home. Derek slouches into a blue armchair beside a window, Kane grabbing plates of food before going to sit across from him. The thought of eating makes my stomach churn. In fact, the thought of even sitting here makes me dangerously nauseous. My breath begins to catch in my throat and sweat beads on my forehead. I shouldn't be here. This is all a mistake. I could run. The door can't be locked yet. If I could just get away… ever so slightly, the floor beneath me rocks, indicating the movement of the train. Defeat hits me like a punch. Of course that won't work. I'd be hunted down, dragged back, and killed.

I clench my hands into fists and wrap my arms around my torso. I look so childish but I don't care. "Johanna?" Karina asks "are you alright dear?"

Her smile is comically wide; like she genuinely cares about me. "I don't feel well," I say, refusing to look her in the eye.

"How about I show you to your room?" she asks without really asking. I notice her cast a quick look towards Derek who gives her a subtle nod. I don't have to respond. She waves me along through a sleek metal door.

Karina tries to carry on some small talk but gives up when I remain silent. She stops in front of a door shiny and identical to all the others I've seen. She gives me a bright smile, "dinner will be in two hours or so. Someone will come get you when it's ready. Until then, make yourself at home!" her heels click down the hall as she leaves me standing alone. Clearly no one is afraid that I'll try to run.

I push open the door, immediately aware of the luxury surrounding me. A glittering chandelier hangs in the center of the room, reflecting small shimmering light onto the immense bed. It is so indisputably striking but I can't muster any awe for it. This isn't home.

With my chest aching for the simple amenities of my tiny cabin in the trees, I cross the room and sit on the bottom of the bed and watch the trees move past me, pulling me farther and farther from home.

My eyes snap open to the sound of knocking on my door. I'm still sitting on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisted into the comforter. I sit frozen, starring unseeing out the window. As much as I wish it wouldn't, the knock comes again with more power behind it.

I swallow heavily and rise to my feet. My legs are stiff and my eyes are heavy but I know that I'm in control of myself now. I pull open the door, coming face to face with Derek Pope- Victor of the 49th Hunger Games and mentor for the last twenty years. Blight and William, our only other Victors, stopped going to the Games years ago. It's only been Derek.

"Johanna," he nods his head and offers his hand to me. "I'm Derek, your mentor. As you know."

I look down at his hand, grinding my teeth together. I look back up at him, leaving his hand floating in the space between us. "Yeah, I know."

"Can I come in?" he asks, dropping his hand to his side, unfazed by my refusing to shake it.

I look at him for a moment, noticing the dark bags under his eyes and the heavy set lines engraved into his face. I jerk my head and step back to give him room to enter.

He takes a few steps in before stopping. There's a moment where I think all he's here to do is stand in the middle of my room and stare out the window. But just as I think to say something he snaps out of it and turns to face me.

"I find it easier to just get this out of the way," he says shoving his hands into his pockets. I raise my eyebrows, swallowing heavily to get rid of the lump in my throat. "I don't know how much strategy really means in the end," he says. "Ultimately there's only two things that matter: perception and desire."

I cross my arms over my chest. He looks at me expectantly but I don't know what I should say so I keep quiet. He lets out a loud sigh before rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. "You want to live; I presume?"

I make a face, "of course I do," I say. Does anyone going into the Games _not_ want to live? Does anyone _not_ fight?

He nods, his eyes flickering around the room before settling on my face. "Then if I want any chance of helping, you there are things I need to know."

"Okay," I say, "like what?"

He grills me for the better part of an hour, asking questions that seem ridiculous and some that make my skin crawl.

Finally, he pauses. His eyes are glossy as he looks me over. "Do you think you can kill someone?"

The question takes me aback. I squeeze my hands together and watch my skin turn white where the blood rushes away. I bite into my lip and nod.

"I can" I say confidently, "if I have to". I've never truly given the idea much thought before. Sure, I've wanted to swing my axe into the nearest Peacekeeper a few times, and I know I've jokingly threatened my siblings and Vinny with it. I'm not naïve enough to think I know what it'll actually be like, having to kill someone, but I've seen death, and I've endured it for most of my life.

"You will have to" Derek snaps. I match the ferocity in his gaze. I don't want to think about having to kill someone but I'm sure that I can. If it means that I'll live and that I get to come home, I can do anything.

"I'm sure," I affirm.

"Good." He sighs and rubs his hands over his face. "What about the Careers?"

I bite into my lip. I'd forgotten all about the trained and groomed opponents I'll be facing. I shrug, "if they were alone maybe. But if they were all together…"

I don't need to finish my sentence. Nobody can survive the Careers when they're together. They're practiced killers, winning more Games than they lose. Whatever I might be capable of, I don't have their training. Derek is silent, his eyes flicking back and forth as he thinks. He opens his mouth every once in a while like he plans to speak but he always closes it again and shakes his head. Then he takes in a heavy breath before looking back down at me. I find a knot in my stomach waiting to hear what he has to say. He might not be able to do much, but he might be my only chance.

"You're strong," he finally says. "You're good with weapons and you know how to survive by yourself- you're smart. But you're small and you're underfed," he glances at me like I might be offended. It's not worth getting angry over; I know it's true.

"What you need," he says "is to keep the target off your back. You need them to pick each other off while you lay low and then there's only a few, weakened tributes left." I swallow heavily and nod my head. This isn't a conversation I want to have. Maybe it would be better to just hide in bed until they drag me to the arena. But he has something in mind, based on the way his eyes are flickering, but I don't know what it is. "Hear me out," he says. "If you act like you're nothing- like you're weak and scared, you'll take everyone's attention off of you. If you make everyone think that you're an easy kill, then they may elect to let you live over someone else. It's a long shot, I know, but it could help. Maybe."

 _Maybe_. Odds are, I'll still die. I furrow my eyebrows, feeling tears of frustration or anger or sorrow- I'm not sure- begin to rise. "What about sponsors?" I murmur.

He shakes his head. "You might not get any… but hopefully you won't need any. Sponsors don't always make Victors, Johanna."

I squeeze my eyes shut and curl my fingers into fists. I know he's right. I need everyone to forget about me. But not having sponsors? That could kill me too. And what about my family? Can I lead them on to think that I've all by forfeited my life after I promised I'd fight? Would they see through the act or would they accept my fate too? What if I die anyway? Will they remember me being weak? But I don't know what else to do. I _have_ to fight. I have to do _something_. And Derek's right. I'm short and thin- I might be strong but there's no defined muscles, not even after years of swinging axes. I sigh and open my eyes.

"Fine," I say. "What do I need to do?"


	4. Chapter 4

"This is the face I wear treading the riptide

Abysmal oceans where good girls go to die"

~Niykee Heaton

As I sit down at the table and courses upon courses of plates are set out before me I begin to feel the first pangs of homesickness. I'm so absorbed by the food and the sheer amount of it. Never before have I had such unrestricted access. I eat until my stomach aches and then I eat some more. It's only when I look up and see Derek looking at my over the glass of scotch in his hand at me do I finally stop myself.

My family is still at home, starving and wondering if they're going to ever see me again. I can all but see Lily curled up in bed with tears dampening the pillow beneath her. My father would be sitting at the foot of the bed saying nothing, just letting himself be there for her to hold on to. And Cam- Cam would be sitting on his bed, twisting his hands together like out mother always tried to stop. But no one would tell him not to tonight. My small family would sit quietly, feeling each other's presence and my too evident absence. Even my grandmother will take a night off from her perpetual complaining to hold my father's hand. The meal I had planned will go untouched. Suddenly I can't eat another bite.

I put down my fork and fold my hands in my lap. My face burns with the strain of staying composed. I know the pain in my chest won't stop. None of this agony and uncertainty will stop until it's over- one way or another.

"Are you alright, dear?" Karina asks, making me flinch from surprise.

I bite into my lip, ready to snap at her but from the corner of my eye I notice Derek tip his chin forward. I sigh inwardly. Karina's opinion of me will influence the public's view. Escorts do a lot more than take us from once place to another. Sponsors listen to them. T.V. shows broadcast their opinions.

"I'm fine," I say quietly, sure that they can all hear the rasp in my voice. The thing that makes me clench my fists, is that I'm not faking it. I'm so scared. If I wanted I could break into tears and scream and crumple to the floor. I could break if I let myself. But I know if I do, I won't have a chance.

I stay silent as Karina holds a weak attempt at conversation. Mostly it's her talking but Derek and Kane fill some gaps. I notice when Kane says that he's spent his whole life working in the lumber yard. I have to resist the urge to point out that _everyone_ spends their whole life working in the lumber yard. There or the mills. Both of which require ridiculous labor. He's not special. But, of course, that's a lie. I can already tell he'll be a favorite this year. He tall, strong, cocky, and attractive. Anyone can see that he could easily take someone like me out with little effort. Biting at my lip, I can picture his enormous hands wrapping around my throat, snapping it with ease.

Karina claps her hand together to get our attention. She's far too eager to usher us into another car to watch the reapings. I sit on the edge of the large, curved black couch. Kane is the closest to me and despite the good foot between us I still pull my legs into my torso to keep as far from him as I can. From the corner of my eye I can see him look at me and, when I bury my chin against my chest, I hear him scoff. Despite my terror, I can't resist looking at him, challenge in my eyes.

He hardly seems bothered, meeting my gaze. I don't know if it's the lingering tears or if the fear is etched into my face but he shakes his head with a sneer. "Given up already, have you?"

I open my mouth but nothing comes out. There's so much pressure in my chest, writhing and pushing to burst out. It's all I can do to remain calm so instead of responding, I turn away, feeling the hot burn of tears and he lets out a venomous laugh.

We sit in silence. No one has much to say, aside from Karina, but she seems to realize none of us are going to humor her. So we wait, my anxiety creeping higher with each second knowing that soon I'll see the faces of the tributes that I'll have to face.

The annual banter between Caesar and Seneca begins but their words sound like little more than the buzzing of a fly. Even though it makes me nauseous to think about the others, I can't resist watching them appear on screen. I might have to kill them. Or they might kill me.

District 1, as per usual, are tall, blonde and unnaturally attractive. Their names, Tanja and Daniel are less posh than normal and the girl has a nervous waver to her eyes. Maybe they'll be less impressive this year… but whatever deficit they had was made up for by Camilla and Hubert from District 2. Camilla has a ferocity in her eyes that gives me chills and as for Hubert, he is so immensely tall and muscular that it makes his escort look like a young child. From District 3 a small fourteen-year-old boy is called. The terror on his face makes it clear: he has no hope of surviving.

District 4 had younger tributes than normal but I know that they'll tear me to pieces as easily as the others. I forget District 5 almost as soon as they appear on screen. But from District 6 a thirteen-year-old girl with stunning black hair is called. Clovis. I make a note to remember her name. Her name, more than anyone else's are numbered.

When my home appears I have to look away from the screen. Even the sounds of my name being called makes my stomach churn and beads of sweat rise on my skin. In a single moment my life was taken from me. Whether I live or not, the Capitol will have taken my life and my choice to live or die from me. There is no freedom in Panem, no matter what they tell us. We're just ignored until we're wanted. No one in the Capitol knew I existed until today, and they're going to kill me.

The rest of Districts hardly make an impression aside from the twelve-year-old from 11. Karina tries, once again, to hold some sort of conversation with us about the shame of twelve-year-olds being included in the reaping, but no one is up to the task. Even intimidating Kane has gone quiet. Maybe he's realized that there are others in this competition and victory is never certain when it means life or death.

Derek turns off the TV and rubs his hands over his head like he has a headache. I've only been with him for a few hours but he's already repeated that motion over and over. It doesn't seem to bother him, though. "Why don't we all go to bed," he says. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day for everyone." He groans standing up, hardly pausing to give us each a nod before retreating through the door we came in. He doesn't elicit much confidence. He seems tired more than anything.

After crossing back through the train, Karina drops me and Kane off at our side-by-side rooms. He looks me up and down like he might want to speak to me. But before he has the chance to say anything, I shut the door behind me.

My footsteps are silent on the lush carpet as I cross to the window. I can see my reflection against the hard glass panels, hovering over the dark shapes of trees flying by. My eyes look black against the night landscape. The restraint and solidarity I was able to uphold during dinner dissolves in front of me. Tears build in my eyes, cascading down my cheeks before I even realize they're there.

The wrongness of it all has always been obvious but something about standing here on the Capitol train hurtling towards life or death feels so much worse than before. Because this isn't just some poor child's life who would be paraded around and then horrifically taken from them. This is _my_ life and my _family's_ lives. I don't want to die. I especially don't want to die like this; needlessly because the Capitol ordered it. It's unfair and it's cruel and there isn't a damn thing I can do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

Battle Scars

"These battle scares don't look like they're fading

Don't look like they're ever going away

They ain't never gonna change"

~Lupe Fiasco

Long into the night I lie awake watching blurred shapes fly past the window. Sleep eludes me despite the heavy ache behind my eyes. For some reason, all I can think about is my mother. I wonder what she must have thought as she laid dying in her bed. Was she afraid? Was she sad? I have to imagine that she was; that all people are. No one wants to die.

I wonder what she would be doing now, had she lived. Some part of me is sure of her faith and confidence. She would go to the grave believing in me. I suppose she already had… Nonetheless, I have to believe that because even if no one believed in me, she would.

I feel childish thinking about her, wishing she was here. She was so kind and so understanding. Whenever I was upset she could always cheer me up; even if she couldn't fix it. I know she wouldn't be able to make this better but at least I wouldn't be so alone. If I were to die, she would make sure I knew it was okay, that it wasn't my fault.

I fall asleep to the nostalgic memories of my mother. It makes me feel warm and safe thinking of her. As long as I stay asleep nothing can hurt me. But the rapping on the door plunges me into the cold reality of consciousness.

"Johanna, dear," Karina calls through the open door. "We're nearly there, you need to get up!"

I roll over on the bed, my eyes crusted together so that it's hard to look at her. Karina's lips are pursed together as she watches me from the doorway. Obviously she's unimpressed.

"Get dressed and come eat breakfast. Your stylists will take care of you later," she smiles before she retreats out into the hall.

I have to force myself to get up. It's easy getting up early at home. I eat little and work a lot and I'm _always_ awake before the sun rises. I never sleep this late but it's so much harder to force myself to move. I hesitate before changing my clothes. I know I'd never be allowed to keep my clothes from home but it feels wrong leaving them here where they will surely be thrown away. I glance in the mirror once after I've brushed through my hair. I look pathetic and sleep deprived. It still feels wrong but I guess that's how I should look if I want them to pity me.

I keep my jaw tightly clenched as I make my way down the train cars. As I expect, I'm the last to arrive. Karina coos as I walk in. "Johanna, you know you're allowed to use the makeup, right?" she asks as if I'm an idiot. I have to bite my lip to keep from snapping at her. What good will makeup do me anyway? I could count on one hand the number of women who use makeup in District 7. When we're starving to death it's hard to worry about my appearance.

She ushers me into a chair around the table in the center of the room. With her hand on my shoulder she gives me a smile and a squeeze that I assume is supposed to be reassuring but only irritates me. "Now eat up," she says "you have a big day!"

But I don't eat- not right away. I can't help but watch Karina prance back to her own seat and pick at the food in front of her. She adjusts her hair and makeup between every bite and when she's not worrying over her appearance she's making condescending comments masked as friendly concern towards the rest of us. She may pity me for not using makeup and being quiet, but I pity her too. The ignorance and apathy of the Capitol people sets my blood on fire.

Breakfast whirls by. My stomach knots as we plunge through the tunnel and into the Capitol. I don't want to have to face any of the many screaming _fans_ that wait in and around the train station. But it doesn't last for more than a minute and the car ride is surprisingly uneventful. Mostly I keep my head down and my mouth shut.

There is something to say for the beauty of the Capitol. Everything is elaborate and shining like it were only just constructed. The people strolling down the boulevards and parks added rainbows of colors but are still outshined by the vibrant buildings and statues. Even the streets seemed to shine with gold despite the near constant traffic. Every once in a while Derek will give me a quick nod or smile in response to my wide eyes, but otherwise I'm left pretty much alone; until I'm handed over to my stylist.

In a span of a few hours I've been bathed, scrubbed, trimmed, shaved, plucked, lathered, and smothered in something very flowery smelling. My skin tingles and my head is sore from where they've been pulling on my hair. My face even feels leathery from all the makeup and plucking they've done.

When they finally place me in front of a mirror and step back to let me see myself, all the irritation and pain falls away. For the first I feel beautiful. My eyes are dark and expressive, my lips are full of life, and even my pale skin looks bright and healthy. I don't know what to make of myself like this. I've never thought of myself as beautiful before but right now there isn't anyone more radiant than I am.

They finally let me go for a lunch break with Derek. He doesn't eat much, having done so with Kane. It's hard to remember that I'm not the only person he's trying to bring home. He is so dedicated and passionate when he talks to me that it seems impossible that he's also the nervous, exhausted man from last night. He mostly focuses on training and what I should do and how I should act. It's all easy to swallow until he brings up the arena and my appetite disappears. I might look beautiful now but in a week's time it will all be different.

Once I'm delivered back to the prep team I find a woman with midnight skin standing to the side with what I assume is my dress. Her features are sharp and demanding. Everything about her is serious except for the bright sky-blue floor-length dress that hangs off one shoulder.

"Hello," she nods at me with a thick Capital accent. "I'm Lucille, your stylist."

I nod stiffly but don't respond. She doesn't seem to care, though. She jumps straight into ordering around the prep team and making adjustments to my hair, makeup, and clothes. Finally, she gives the okay for the two women of my prep team to slip the loose dress on. They do a few more final tweaks before having me step into exquisite heels.

Lucille moves to stand behind me and point me towards a floor length mirror. A small smirk plays over her lips as I take myself in.

The dress only takes whatever beauty I had before and multiplies it. The top is a pale green, matching the trinkets braided into my hair, that fades to a dark brown by my feet. I know I'm dressed as a tree, just as District 7 tributes always are, but I can't bring myself to care. The dress hugs my torso and flares out of my feet, with a loose layer of lace draped from my shoulders that hangs all the way down past my hips. It's like nothing I've seen before, not that I see many dresses.

I offer a smile and quiet words to the prep team before Lucille ushers them away. As annoying as they are, they clearly want me to like them, and it' hard not to get absorbed by their incessant giggling. But Lucille has a cutting edge to her that makes me wonder why she's the District 7 stylist, and hasn't fought her way to one of the winning districts. Every word and movement she makes is harsh and precise. It doesn't help that her hair is pulled tightly behind her head and she's at least a foot taller than I am.

Before she walks me down to the chariots she gives me a quick, one side of the mouth smile. It takes me aback for a moment. It looked like genuine warmth in her face but that can't be. No one in this damned city has any warmth. She's only here to dress me, nothing more. It's sick. She's prepping the pig for the slaughter. Warmth doesn't mean anything.

When we join with Derek, Karina, and Kane and his much friendlier looking stylist, I feel the nerves jump back into action. My stomach churns as the room fills with tributes and mentors. Before they were just faces on a screen; now they're real, moving, talking, and watching me back.

Around my neck my fingers find the small charm that hangs there. It's a sun, small and dull. It was my mother's when she was younger. Every memory I have of her is in this necklace. But when she died she gave it to me, saying that I could use its luck. It's the only thing I have left of her- the only thing that matters anyway.

 _What luck it gave me_?

All too soon the announcement comes for us to mount the chariots. My hands are trembling so bad that I don't know how I'm going to climb up it. But somehow I do, with some help from Lucille to keep my dress from getting ruined. I swallow heavily, gripping the sides of the black metal with all the force that I can. Even so, when the horses lurch forward I wobble in my heels, brushing my arm against Kane's. He retracts in disgust; hatred clear in his face.

I bite into my lip and stare forwards. How have I already made an enemy? I haven't even spoken to him and he hates me. As we roll down the streets all I can think is that he's going to kill me and everyone cheering and throwing flowers is going to cheer him on as I die.

I can't look at them, can barely stand to hear them. Cheering is supposed to be a happy sound, but right now it only fills me with dread. Squeezing my eyes shut, I swear I can hear words amongst the screams. _This is it. This is the end. You'll disappear with the rest of us_.


	6. Chapter 6

"No time left to play it safe, no time to bend

the worst mistake you'll ever make is trying to blend"

~Icon for Hire

I begin pulling my hair out the braids before we even get to the elevator. It's done so tightly that it makes my scalp ache to pull on the pins but it gives me an excuse as to why my face is red and eyes are glossy. I can't get myself to look at the other tributes. I don't even want to look at Derek or Karina so I settle for staring at the blank concrete walls. I must look like a mess. Certainly not someone capable of winning The Hunger Games

We walk as a group to the elevator and ride up in silence. I urge it to hurry, hoping that I can hold back the tears until I'm safely behind a door. I dig my nails into my palm and bite deep into my lip; anything that keeps my mind off the pain burning in my chest. Each member of my team casts me wary glances wondering if they should do something. Even Kane glances at me a few times but instead of pity all I can see is revulsion. _He should be happy_ , I think. My falling apart only helps him.

We finally arrive on the seventh floor and immediately Karina puts her manicured hand on my shoulder and offers to show me to my room. I nod, clenching my jaw as tightly as I can and follow her down a hall. Derek casts a concerned look towards me as I leave, but he doesn't say a word.

"You know" Karina clucks as we disappear down the hall. "Not smiling, not waving, won't win you any sponsors. Put it a little more effort and you might turn into something!"

She chirps like it's a compliment but I can feel the sting behind her words. Pressing my lips together I shove my way into the room she waves out to me without a word. I'm exhausted and my chest aches with the pain of missing home. I collapse onto the bed as soon as the door closes and the tears come immediately after. I grind the heels of my hands into my eyes until I can see a dizzying array of colors. In my chest there's an ache that grows deeper every minute- every _second_ I'm here. I've spent my whole life wishing for anything else and now, more than anything, I just want to go home.

I want everything as it should be; my mother and father, Cam, Lily, and Johnathan, all of us together. Even in a house that's too small with too little food and too much work, it's _home_. And right now all I want is a little comfort, a little familiarity.

My fingers instinctively make their way to the necklace around my throat. Is this all I'm going to have left of home? It might be all I need. It's comforting to have it, to know that no matter what I'll have something of my own. But there's also something about it that makes my stomach tighten. It's also a reminder of where I'm likely going to end up; in a grave next to dozens of other unlucky kids. I won't even be able to be buried with my family- beside Jonathan and my mother. Even in death I won't be able to be with them again.

I bite my lip and sit up so that my feet are curled beneath me. I can't lose. I know that there is every possibility that I'm going to be dead in a few weeks but I can't let myself think about it. I have to fight harder than I've ever fought before. I can't let my family watch me die as they've seen so many others. I don't want to be another stain on their memories.

I wipe my face and rise to my feet. I strip off the magnificent clothes, not bothering to care for it any more than tossing it in the corner of the bathroom. I hesitate before turning on the shower. I've never actually had a real shower and it's far more daunting than I could ever have imagined; the water is hot and the soap smells like flowers and a variety of buttons and knobs line a sleek control panel.

Four years ago when Johnathan and my mother died, my grandmother was still mobile and in her grief she didn't cry but instead she worked. I can remember her holding my hand as I wept. She always said that taking a bath made you feel better and even though I never bought into it, she heated the water hotter than I ever had on my own. She kept heating water, pouring it over me as the old water cooled down. I can't help but think of that as the shower water runs over my shoulders washing the tears away.

How had she reacted when my father told her what happened at the reaping? Did she weep for me? Or did she remain as stoic and firm as she had when she lost her daughter? She's so old and frail that I fear such news would kill her. Even if I survive this, I'll be lucky to see her alive. Very few people live to her age. It's a miracle I know her at all.

I force myself out of the shower when my eyes begin to droop. My mind stays blissfully empty as I dry off and find some clothes to change into. As I get dressed I notice the neat stack of clothes sitting on top of a glass table off to the side. I approach them cautiously, as if they would bite. I know they're training clothes; why else would they be left out? But seeing them there reminds me of the next few days. I swallow and turn away from them, resisting the bile burning in the back of my throat.

Before I can think about anything else I climb into the bed and pull the blankets up over my head. Waves of loneliness roll over me like waves crashing against the shore. In the end there's no one but myself. I'm all alone in this. No one cares if I live or die and, ultimately, it doesn't matter. My death won't mean a damn thing to all but a handful of people. And knowing that I feel so completely and utterly alone. Because, when it comes down to it, I'm going to die alone. Everyone dies alone, even with a hundred cameras pointed at them and the whole country watching.

For a few moments I pretend that I'm not in the Capitol and that I'm in my small bad at home, rising early to get a head start on all the work that need to be done. But of course, I'm not, and the fantasy doesn't last long. So I resign to open my eyes and face whatever's going to be thrown at me today.

Karina shows up outside my door almost as soon as I wake. She's as bright and cheery as ever, even in the morning. "Breakfast is going to be just wonderful!" she squeals before dashing off.

I rise slowly before picking up the training clothes laid out for me. They're soft and light and much higher quality material than I've ever felt before. I fidget with the hem of the shirt as I quietly exit my room and pad back out the main area where the table has been decorated with food. I eat so much that my stomach bloats, making my shirt stretch uncomfortably over my torso. Even terrified, instinct forces me to eat as much as I can.

A few minutes before ten Karina finally ushers Kane and I into the elevator, where we ride down in silence. I have to bite into my lip when the doors open to keep from gawking at the sheer size of the room we're delivered into. The ceiling stretches on forever and the walls are covered with various alcoves. But it's not the weapons or instructors that keep my attention, but the other tributes.

Most stand by themselves but in close proximity to their district partner, keeping quiet and not making eye contact. But in the front, right next to the Capitol woman who I assume is in charge by how she glares around the room, the Careers are huddled, laughing loudly and seemingly confident.

I cross my arms over my chest, shuffling to the back of the group. I half expect Kane to do the same, but when he assertively approaches the Careers I can feel my heart jump into my throat. Everyone watches, wondering what they'll do with the stranger. None of us expect them to welcome him with hearty laughs and welcomings. I can feel my resolve weaken. Everyone in the room seems to sigh; there's another Career we'll have to contend with this year which means we're that much less likely to go home.

Kane looks at me only once- after we're dismissed to train as we choose. I hardly notice his gaze, but I catch it at the last second. His eyes are dark, menacing, but there's something in the way he looks at me that makes me think there's more than hate behind his hard features. Maybe, somewhere, he doesn't want me to die either. We are from the same district after all. We don't even know each other. But that's not what's important right now. I push thoughts of the other tributes from my mind and focus on what's in front of me; which for the entire morning is practicing fire making, which, of course, I already know how to do, but, as Derek said, it's very unimpressive and unassuming.

At lunch I sit by myself, as do most of the others. Almost all noise comes from the Careers, who talk and laugh while the rest of us force food into our mouths. I don't think I could eat if it weren't for the years of experience believing that I had to eat while food was around or I wouldn't get any at all. Nevertheless, it makes my stomach churn when I return to the gym.

I keep my head down and shuffle to the far wall where seemingly all the weapons stations are set up. Silently I curse Derek, wishing he wasn't so well-planned- so logical. I notice a few sets of eyes turn to look at me, as they do every time a new tribute takes their hands at anything deadly. I swallow heavily, turning the throwing knife in my hand.

I was raised with knives and axes. It's no difficulty making any mark I set my eye on, but as Derek told me to, I have to do more than be invisible, I have to make myself _known_ as weak. So I throw the first knife, not even hitting the target. I try for about fifteen minutes, each time missing worse than before. I walk away with my face down. I hear a snicker from the girl from District 12. Little does she know I hit every mark exactly where I wanted to.


	7. Chapter 7

"How can I make history, with your choreography?

Take your hands off me, take your hands off me

Before I suffocate"

~Skylar Grey

I return to my room with dejected silence. I faked it, I know that, and yet I can't help but feel as if I actually failed. Maybe this act is a mistake. What are the chances of anyone singling me out anyway? It's a small chance that anyone would have to make the choice between killing me and someone else. I bite into my lip and slump against the bed, cradling my head in my hands.

But Derek is right. _If_ it were to come to that, I need to be kept out of the fray. If the Careers came after me… I wouldn't last a minute. I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms tightly around them. As much as I wish it weren't true, as much as I want all of this to be some cruel dream, I know it's not. This is real and what I do now could make the difference between life and death.

So as much as it feels wrong, I need to stick with it. Karina comes to get me for dinner and I stay quiet and small. Kane talks some, but mostly we eat in silence. Once all the food is taken away, Derek asks Kane to stay, which I take as a cue to leave. I return to my room without hesitation. I spend some time starring out the window into the city below before deciding to shower.

I'm still wringing water from my hair when a knock comes at my door. I hesitate a moment before dropping the towel on the floor and answering. Derek stands at the other side, looking surprisingly identical to how he did on the train; dark bags under his eyes and deepest lines engraved in his face.

"Mind if I come in?" he asks, not waiting for me to answer before stepping into the room. He crosses to the window, his arms crossed tightly in front of him. "How was training?" he asks finally.

I shrug, avoiding his attentive gaze.

"Did you do what I suggested?" he asks. I nod, not feeling the desire to have any sort of conversation. He shoves his hands into his pockets and nods quickly.

"There's some other stuff we should talk about," he says, glancing at me and quickly away. "About the arena."

I sigh, feeling the now familiar tug of fear in my stomach. It's easy to forget that in a few days the Games will actually start and all this parading around will end. I give Derek a nod, telling him to continue with whatever it is he wants to say.

"I know that whatever I tell you might end up not meaning anything, but I do want to help you. As much as I can, anyway." There's a sincerity in his voice that catches my attention. "If you don't want my advice, that's fine, just tell me. But if you do…" he trails off, waiting for me to answer.

I nod, slowly then determinately. "I'll take what I can get," I murmur, pleased when I see the look of relief pass over his face. It might not mean much, but it's comforting to know that he truly wants to help me.

He talks for a while, mostly about his Games and what he did or should've done. But he also talks about other Games where his tributes died, during which he becomes strangely quiet and curt; like he mourns for each of them. But he gets through it, finishing his long talk with a quick nod, tired smile, and "goodnight," before nearly running out of the room.

I'm left feeling overwhelmed with everything. He talked about fighting techniques, hiding versus running, all kinds of arenas from desert, to jungle, to arctic wasteland. I chew on my lip as I process all of it, leaving the inside of my mouth bloody and raw. I know I'll prepare as best I can, but ultimately I don't know what will be thrown at me so I'll just have to be ready when it comes.

Surprisingly the next days of training are uneventful and bland- as much as training for The Hunger Games can be. I keep to myself, doing everything worse than I actually can and seething each time someone snickers or looks at me with pity. _I'll show them_ , I tell myself. _They'll see how weak I am_.

Each time, however, I have to remind myself that the other tributes aren't the enemy. Most of them don't want to be here either and many don't have a chance at all. But it's hard not to see them as competition. In a few days we'll be killing each other until all but one of us is dead.

My stomach churns violently as Tanja, the busty, blonde girl from District 1 gets called out for her private evaluation. I know what to do and I'm going to do it. Derek talked for hours again last night about things I never even thought would be important, so naturally he covered the private session extensively. Simply, I fail; do something boring and do it poorly. I still have my doubts about this plan but I've committed to going through with it.

Slowly each tribute gets called. They trickle out slowly, vacating seats until half of us remain. Ferdinand, the boy from 6 was called out nearly fifteen minutes ago so I know that my turn is nearing which makes my heart race. I press my hands together so tightly that they turn white. The thought of going out in front of the Gamemakers is almost as terrifying as going into the arena. They are traditionally cruel and apathetic. They could crush me if they wanted to, pick me off just to make the show more entertaining. They're Gods, while I'm merely a pig, begging not to be sent off to slaughter.

My name is finally called, ringing over the room with astounding noise. I stand, only to nearly fall back in my seat due to my legs trembling so badly. They wobble as I cross the room. I know the others are watching me as I pass but I don't look at any of them. Unwillingly, I leave the tiled room and walk into the empty gym. Without tributes and instructors, it feels even larger than before. I'm aware of my footsteps echoing as I cross the room to the camouflage station.

I mix some paints, very poorly camouflaging a rock into some leaves. I'm dismissed with a mere jerk of the head. I can hear some of the Gamemakers laugh as I step onto the elevator. Most of them never even looked at me. Do they care that we're dying? Do we matter to them at all?

Of course we don't; we couldn't. But I can't help but wonder if any of them have any amount of humanity to realize that we're still children, and we're going to _die_. But why would they care at all? We aren't real. Not really.

I ride the elevator in silence, feeling the familiar sensation of tears rising in my throat. I want nothing more than to go to my room and scream until my throat is raw; but when I see Derek sitting on the couch with Karina, looking so lonely and so _sad_ , I swallow and force myself to regain composure. Of course Karina tries to pry information about how the private training went, but I just shake my head, feeling my face turn red at the effort to keep from breaking down.

By Kane's inflated recount, he likely did exceedingly well. He talks rapidly about his alliance with the Careers, talking strategy with Derek while we eat dinner, never once looking at me. He doesn't care what I hear. He assumes I'll be dead before I could tell anyone. For whatever it's worth, the other tributes definitely have no faith in me. I'm just another face they don't bother to recognize because, to them, I'll be gone in a few days.

For some reason that makes me angry. They all dismiss me so easily even though we're in the same place. Do they not feel sorry for me? I have a family too. I'm scared too. But just because they think I'm not a threat, I suddenly mean nothing? I put down my fork, and clutch my hands together in my lap. They'll see what I can do. They'll see who I am.

I keep my mouth shut as we file into the living room and sit in front of the T.V. Kane bounces his leg either nervously or excitedly- maybe both. I pull my legs up to my chest, ignoring the concerned looks that Karina gives me. Once the faces of all 24 tributes appear however, her attention is absorbed.

As expected, Tanja and Daniel, the tributes from District 1 receive 10s, while Camilla from 2 gets a 9 and Hubert, an 11. The boy from 3 surprisingly pulls out an 8, which earns a nod from Derek. From 4, Anja and Platt both get 9s. The rest of the districts don't get anything higher than a 7, until Kane appears on screen with a shining silver 10. Karina claps her hands and even Derek gives him a congratulatory word, while Kane beams widely. But the excitement dies quickly once it's my turn.

My chest tightens as I wait. I know I won't get anything high but there's a part of me that hopes for something decent. But no. A 3 dances across the screen before disappearing to make way for District 8.

Everyone is silent as we watch the rest of the scores. Even after the T.V. clicks off no one says a word. I'm the first to move. Tears fill my eyes as I cross in front of Derek and Karina and rush to my room. Derek calls after me but Karina doesn't even look my way; she's talking excitedly to Kane, who audibly scoffs as I pass by him. I don't matter to her anymore. As far as she cares, I'm already dead.

Maybe I already am.


	8. Chapter 8

"Embers in the ashtray glow

Like memories that won't let go

I'm out here trying to get them untangled

In the darkness on the edge of town

A little lost, a little found

Waiting on a call from an angel"

~Florida Georgia Line

I feel like I'm being whipped by the wind. My eyes burn and my skin feel tight and dry. I flicker between crying hopelessly and determinedly vowing to fight every few hours, sometimes even minutes. The only thing I can hold on to is my fear; fear for myself, and for my family.

I've never missed anyone as desperately as I miss them. Right now they feel even farther away than Johnathan when he died. At least then I had a grave to go to and memories to share with those who knew them best. Now I'm all alone, with nothing more than the small sun charm hanging around my neck. I routinely toy with it between my thumb and forefinger. Maybe it isn't as much of a good luck charm as my mom thought. It seems like everyone who wears it ends up dead.

I roll over in the bed, facing the grand window. Down below me people are throwing parties, readying themselves for tomorrow's interviews and the Games official start the next day. To them it's nothing more than show on TV; nothing more than a game. I can't help but feel angry when thinking of them. They don't know how we live in the districts. They don't know what it's like to be hungry or afraid, or to fear for everyone you love every day. What would they do if _we_ sent _their_ children into the arena? Surely there would be riots, people banding together to overthrow whoever gave such a command. All the same, I'm going into the arena and I may never come out.

My prep team doesn't bother knocking, but instead burst into the room in a flurry of giggles and conversation. They all but ignore my irritated comments as they drag me into the bathroom and begin their work. It doesn't take nearly as long to get me ready as it did when I first arrived, but they still somehow spend hours cleaning, plucking, and overall _prepping_ me for when Lucille arrives with my outfit.

They're still giddy with Lucille around, but much of the joking and outburst of laughter disappear under her watchful, angry presence. My nails are painted a shining gold and some shimmering dust is sprinkled over my shoulders and into my hair, which has been twisted into a loose, inverted type braid that hangs down at my shoulders.

Finally, Lucille gives a nod to the others, who pull me to my feet and pull the robe from my shoulders. I hardly have time to register that I'm naked before they pull me into a form fitting dress. One of the women holds my hand as I step into a pair of gold heels that encircle my ankle. Just by looking down I can tell my dress has been intricately made. It clings tightly to my chest, a detailed pattern of golden leaves and vines that look just like patterned fabric if you aren't paying attention. But when the dress hits my stomach it begins to flare, soft midnight blue fabric melting in with the gold to make my eyes look almost golden themselves.

Looking in the mirror I know I'm more radiant than I've ever been. But it doesn't make me happy, or feel good. Instead it makes me miserable. I'm beautiful, more so than I ever thought before, but whether I live or die, I never will be again because I'll either be dead, or I'll be a murderer. Neither of those scenarios equate to beauty.

"What do you think?" Lucille asks, pinning a stray strand of hair back.

I bite my lip, wondering what the right word could be to describe how I feel. I look at my face in the mirror, for the first time noticing how my sharp, cruel features fade into each other; how my eyes are so round and my lips full. I let out a long breath and meet Lucille's eyes through the mirror.

"I'm-" I pause, swallowing heavily. "Unearthly" I finally mumble.

She smiles, the most genuine thing I've seen her do. "I'm glad you think so" she says. "Everyone deserves to feel radiant at least once."

I almost think of her as kind, until she jerks her head towards the door, kicking my prep team out with a scowl. She circles me a few times, adjusting strands of hair or moving the fabric of the dress around. I don't know what she's looking for exactly, but her eyes dance over me for long, quiet minutes. Eventually she seems satisfied and stops in front of me.

Running her hands over her floor-length, white lace dress that shows more skin than it covers, she smiles again.

"I think it's time to head down," she asserts. We don't speak as we ride the elevator, but she occasionally gives me a nod or smile that seems to be encouraging.

Kane is already waiting backstage with Derek, Karina, and his stylist who appears to be wearing entirely black. She and Lucille couldn't look more different, but the way Lucille's presence seems to make her shrink away makes me want to laugh.

Derek puts his hand in my shoulder as he points me to where I stand. I can tell by how he turns his back to the others he doesn't want them to overhear.

"You remember what I told you yesterday?" he asks. I nod. I objected initially when he told me to cry on stage but I eventually agreed. I've come this far, could crying do any more damage than I've already done to my image? I just hope that my father sees through it. I hope he can see that I'm trying to be strong; that I don't believe what I'm saying. Or that I at least don't want to be saying it. Because, maybe what scares me the most, is that it isn't so much that I'm faking it, it's that I'm just not trying to hide it anymore.

The call for mentors and stylists to leave comes too soon. I'm surprised to find that I don't want Derek to leave. He's been supportive, and the only person who knows that I'm not a weak, pathetic coward. Somehow in the span of the last week I've grown to like him. As I watch him disappear down a set of steps with Karina at his side, I can't help but wonder if he misses any of the tributes he's lost. Does he remember them at all? Or just block it all out?

I don't have time to ponder. We're marched out on stage and arranged by district in rows behind Caesar and a threatening, empty white chair beside him. I squeeze my hands tightly together, feeling wave after wave of anxiety rush over me. I don't think I can talk to him. I'll vomit before I even get to him. Maybe that will help influence how they all see me. Maybe I should pass out or panic and not even do my interview. I bite into my lip and stare down at the floor when Caesar calls Tanja down. I won't run or pass out although the premise is tempting. There's nothing I can do now but sit here and wait.

This year Caesar's hair is dyed an extremely bright sky blue. The shade clashes with Tanja's deep V-neck purple dress. She makes up for it, however, by compulsively flirting with him. Daniel does much the same, flashing his sex appeal and good looks to the crowd. The audience screams loud for him when he returns to his seat. I can tell he's proud by his wide grin. He catches the fourteen-year-old from District 5 looking at him and gives her a wink that makes her squirm uncomfortably, and makes me surprisingly angry.

Camilla from District 2 is shorter than the other careers, but she has the muscle to make up for it. She's obviously smarter than the average career and I'm willing to bet that she could beat them all if she wanted to. Her district partner, Hubert couldn't be more different. He is hugely tall and muscular without the brain to match. He's good natured enough to make the crowd like him, but it doesn't seem there's anything else going for him other than his sheer strength. Goosebumps rise on my arms when I imagine what he could do if he caught me.

Maisie and Desmas from District 3 are rather unexciting. Maisie appears comparatively fit and well fed while Desmas is quiet and seemingly overwhelmed by everything. I do my best to ignore Platt from District 4. He goes on and on about how he plans to kill us, even selecting a few of us to use as examples. There's a bloodlust in his eyes that makes me feel sick to my stomach. Caesar questions District 6 rather uneventfully and all too soon I'm aware of my name being called.

My legs shake as I descend the steps and cross the stage to shake Caesar's hand. There's a wave of uncertain applause before the room descends into silence and I'm left sweating under the lights.

"It's good to speak with you, Johanna. You look very beautiful tonight," Caesar says.

"Thank you," I murmur, casting a wary glance at the audience before looking down at my hands curled together on my lap. It feels wrong not to look at Caesar, but I'm trying to do what Derek said, which means as little eye contact as possible.

"How have you been feeling the last few days here in the Capitol?"

I swallow heavily, wringing my hands violently, just like Cam. _Stop it, Johanna_ I can almost hear my mother saying. "I've- I've been really scared. But I think I'm okay," I say just loud enough for him to hear.

"You think?" he asks questioningly.

I shrug, quickly looking up at him. "I mean that I'm okay as I can be." Which isn't totally true, based on my nightly hours of crying and giving up any hope I had.

Caesar nods, seemingly understanding but clearly disappointed by my lack of substance. "Why don't you tell us about your family. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

I bite into my lip and raise my head to look out into the audience. The bright lights make it hard to see past the first few rows, but I can see enough. They look curious but none have that enthusiastic vigor they have when other tributes are on stage.

I let out a long breath and hold my eyes shut for a few moments. When I open them again I look at Caesar in the eyes. "I have a brother and a sister," I whisper. I shake my head quickly before Caesar has the chance to say anything more. "I don't want to talk about them," I say, feeling genuine tears begin to rise, "please don't make talk about them. I can't bear it."

Caesar is quite for a moment, watching with the audience as tears begin to slowly roll down my cheeks. I'm able to catch a quick glance of myself in one of the TV screens and I look as pitiful as I feel.

"It's alright, dear," he soothes, "we don't have to talk about them at all. What do you think of the other tributes? Have you made any friends, or alliances?"

I resist the urge to scoff in his face. No one here makes friends- not even the Careers. And as for alliances… who would ally with me?

I shake my head. "I haven't talked to anybody. They're all stronger than me, and smarter."

"Surely that's not true! You look very bright to me, and I'm an excellent judge of those things," Caesar winks at the crowd who satisfy him with a chuckle. "Do you at least feel prepared for tomorrow?"

Once again I have to fight the urge to laugh in his face, or at the very least, roll my eyes. The Careers are the only people prepared for this, and I'm not even sure if that's possible. So I shake my head, once again looking down at my hands. "There isn't anything to be prepared for."

"Whatever do you mean?" Caesar asks.

I let out a long sigh and make a show of wiping tears away that I know must smudge my makeup. "I'm going to die tomorrow, I think."

The buzzer goes off, leaving my words echoing menacingly around the audience. Their applause is halfhearted as I return to my seat, wiping tears away with each step. I keep my eyes firmly on the floor in front of me for the rest of the interviews. I cry in earnest for a few more minutes before I finally force myself to stop.

As I expected, Kane plays the role as the underdog who has made it into the elite and that anyone who counts him out must be an idiot. I don't really listen to anyone else. Except when Kiyo, the eighteen-year-old from 10 starts comparing tributes to cattle, describing how he'll slaughter us just like we were animals.

Karina fusses over Kane as soon as we're lead off stage. She's confident that he'll be the Victor this year and because of that, I'm invisible to her. Derek gives me an encouraging nod and pat on my shoulder but otherwise doesn't say anything about my "performance." He offers meek congratulations to Kane but doesn't seem too inclined to speak with him either.

Dinner starts off lively, with Karina and Kane taking over the conversation, but as the food dwindles, so does the spirit. I'm hardly able to eat but I know as soon as dinner is over that I'll have to face what comes next.

Derek sighs after a long while of no one speaking or eating. "I think it's best you both try to get some rest. Please, sleep as much as you can. I'll see you in the morning."

For the first time since being here, I don't want to escape to my room. Kane is the first to stand, his posture tense and rigid.

"Right," he says, looking between Derek and Karina. "Goodnight, then."

He moves towards the hall and I rise from my chair to follow, but Karina jumps from her seat, stopping us. She pulls Kane into a highly exaggerated hug.

"I know you'll do just wonderfully" she tells him. She steps back, giving him a broad smile and encouraging squeeze to his shoulders before noticing me. Her expression falters and much of the enthusiasm fades away. She approaches me slowly; her heels clicking loudly against the floor. She smiles wide, her plastic-looking face crinkling in weird ways. "Good luck, dear" she says, before turning to give Kane another pat.

I roll my eyes, not caring who sees it. I look towards Derek before turning away. He gives me a firm nod and closed lip smile. I swallow heavily and return the gesture. The hallway feels so dark as I walk down it. I try to suppress the feeling that the walls are closing in as I mechanically shower, dress, and put myself to bed.

I lie there for hours, staring at the ceiling where lights dance in response to the cars and parties happening in the streets below. I know I should sleep; that I'll need all my energy tomorrow, but fear keeps my eyes wide.

Finally, though exhaustion takes over and I begin to nod off, plunging into a restless and unsatisfying sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

"And I've got nothing to say

I can't believe I didn't fall right down on my face

(I was confused)

Looking everywhere only to find

That it's not the way I had imagined it all in my mind

(So what am I)

What do I have but negativity?

'Cause I can't justify the way everyone is looking at me

(Nothing to lose)

Nothing to gain, hollow and alone

And the fault is my own"

~Linkin Park

I awake to a quick knocking at my door. I lie there frozen, know that I need to get up; knowing that I'm going to the arena. The knock comes again, and when I don't answer, it cracks open and Derek's shadow creeps across the floor.

"Johanna?" he calls "Are you awake?"

"Yeah" I respond quietly, still lying still.

"I'm sorry. It's time to go."

I grit my teeth and force myself to sit up. Derek gives me a sad smile before closing the door. I press the heels of my hands into my forehead and breathe deeply for a few moments, forcing myself into composure. I feel like I'm in a dream as I rise to my feet and change my clothes. Derek is leaning against the wall when I finally open the door, his eyes squeezed shut and his hands in fists at his side.

"Ready to go?" he asks.

I nod. I'd never be ready to go in a hundred years, but I know delaying the inevitable will only make it worse, so I do my best to keep myself from shaking and walk with Derek to the elevator.

"I'm so sorry, Johanna" he says when the doors close.

I nod. "Am I going to die?" I ask without realizing it. It feels childish to ask because obviously there's no way for him to know. But some part of me wants to know what he thinks.

He lets out a long sigh and crosses his arms. "I don't know," he says. His mouth works like he wants to say more but he doesn't know how. "Whatever happens," he finally says "I want you to know that it's not your fault. _None of this_ is your fault. And-" he pauses and I can see his throat bob. "-And know that you're not alone, okay? I know it might not mean anything, but I'll be watching the whole time. No matter what."

The doors open, revealing a massive hovercraft resting on the roof. Lucille turns with her hands crossed sternly over her chest. I blink away tears and follow Derek forward. I don't know why but for some reason his words make me feel both better and worse. Him saying that is comforting in a way, and I can't tell him how grateful I am for his kindness. But, I can't help but be reminded how alone I will be. I know he'll watch, my family will watch, but in the end I'm entirely alone.

"You're gonna be okay," Derek says, stepping back to let Lucille take his place as my escort.

"Thank you," I murmur "for everything."

He nods his head in acknowledgment before taking a final step back. I turn towards the ladder, suddenly afraid when my limbs won't move. They actually _won't move_. I begin to panic, even when Lucille tells me to calm down, pursing her lips. A woman I didn't see before walks towards me. The urge to scream rises in my throat as she pierces my skin with what Lucille says is a tracker. As soon as I'm able to move I'm ushered into the hovercraft and into a small room with a ceiling made out of windows.

My stomach clenches as we take flight and the Capitol disappears in the distance. "Eat" Lucille commands, handing me a plate of food and some water. I can't choke down anything more than a few pieces of fruit. My limbs feel both extraordinarily heavy and feather light at the same time. Everything is so crisp and clear and yet I can't focus on anything. It's a sensation I've never felt before, being so alive and so hidden at the same time. I assume it's shock, or panic, or maybe both. All I know is that I'm _so_ afraid of what's to come. The Games aren't days away anymore. In an hour, maybe two, the gong will ring and I could die. I'm only guaranteed the next hour and then I'll be hunted down.

The windows overhead begin to darken after some time, making me dig my nails into the soft leather seat. My heart beats so loud that I can't hear Lucille ask if I'm okay. She has to repeat herself three times before I realize that she's talking to me. I give her a quick shake of my head before pulling my knees up to my chest and trying to focus on breathing.

It feels like I've been surrounded by fog when the hovercraft stops and I'm lead down through a maze of tunnels and delivered into a small, square, concrete room. I freeze as soon as the door closes, my eyes glued to the clear tube in the corner.

Lucille pushes me away from it, sitting me down in a chair. She pulls my hair tightly back and makes me brush my teeth before she takes the single outfit waiting on the rack on the far wall. She stays quiet as she makes me dress in the black pants and forest green shirt. A thick black coat is a part of the uniform, which she tells me makes her think it will be very cold. I can't even muster a response. Hot or cold, it doesn't matter.

My hands are shaking so bad I can't even lace up the boots she hands me. Lucille makes a clucking sound before moving to do it for me. I know I must pathetic, but I can't even begin to think about that. What my family would think, seeing me sitting here, trembling, as a Capitol woman ties my shoes like I'm a child.

Once I'm ready, I sit on the chair with my head held in my hands. Lucille sits near me, occasionally saying something I assume is meant to calm me down, but mostly she sits quietly.

"It'll be fine, Johanna" Lucille says firmly, moving away from my boots to sit in a seat of her own. "Certainly it can't be as bad as your imagining."

I look over at her, surprise momentarily taking over my fear and anxiety. "Have _you_ ever died before?" I say quietly, my voice weak.

"I just mean that there's no point in worrying yourself sick" Lucille sighs. "You'll do fine."

I look down where I'm wringing my hands in my lap. _Then say it with more conviction_ , I think. Clearly she expects me to die. Everyone does. Hell, even I do. After at least thirty minutes a voice comes from a speaker in the ceiling, calling for me to step onto the platform.

I can feel my breath catch in my throat, making a horrible rasping sound. I pull my arms around myself, desperately wanting to run and never come back. Lucille must expect me to panic, or she's had another tribute try to fight it because she quickly rises to her feet and stands in front of me.

"I know you don't want to do this, Johanna, but there isn't a choice." She doesn't say it harshly; it's actually soothing the way she speaks. "If you don't go in there, they _will_ make you. Don't let them force you." Her dark eyes pierce mine with ferocity. I nod, knowing I wouldn't be able to speak if I wanted to. She takes my hand and pulls me to my feet, letting go of me once I'm standing directly outside of the tube. My hands are shaking so violently that I don't know if they'll ever stop. Biting deep into my lip I step onto the platform, gasping when the glass closes around me the moment I'm inside.

Immediately I want back out. I push my hands against the glass, knowing it won't open again but nonetheless trying anyway. From somewhere there's a voice counting down. I know it's for me, for the Games. The silence around me is so heavy, only making the hammering of my heart echo.

The voice is on thirty when the platform beneath me begins to rise.

Adrenalin begins pumping through me, making my tremors spread down through my legs. There's a certain agitation that's spreading, making me want to run, to scream, to do anything else but stand here in this sealed tube.

My arms drop to my side as light begins to appear above me. My hair strains against its ties, fighting to go free in the wind from my ascent. Without warning I'm suddenly in the open, light so bright that I'm forced to shut my eyes. I try to swallow only to find my mouth dry.

I squint, desperately trying to see what's around me. At first I don't notice how cold the air is, or the snow dusted over the frozen ground as a single bead of sweat drips down my neck. My eyes take too long to adjust to the light. When I finally look towards the shining cornucopia, there's fifteen seconds left on the countdown. I quickly look at those next to me. To my right is Clovis, a thirteen-year-old from District 6, but to my left is Hubert from 2, already poised to run and looking hungry for blood.

I take in a deep breath of the cold air and finally look at what's lying out in front of me. There are ten seconds on the clock, counting down faster than I'm ready for. A few yards in front of me is a folded up tarp. It's better than nothing, but my eyes catch the black backpack a few feet past that. I'm sure that others will go for it but I'm a fast runner. At least no one should have weapons by the time I get there. If I can grab it and get into the trees…

There isn't any time left to plan. The gong sounds and I push off from the pedestal as hard as I can. There's a moment where we all move in unison, each person running as fast as they can, hyperaware of each movement the people around us make. It takes only a second for me to pass the tarp. My feet slide against the thin layer of snow as I try to slow down to grab the backpack.

I slow down to regain my balance. All around me people are running in one direction or another. No one seems to be coming for me though, so I shrug the backpack over my shoulder and turn to run. But a flash of movement at the cornucopia catches my eye and I hesitate. The first tributes are reaching the metal husk, grabbing weapons and turning to face each other. A younger boy is running into the mouth, probably in a desperate attempt to arm himself. But Hubert, who moments ago was standing a few feet to my left, is behind him. I watch in horror as he grabs the back of the young boy's coat and throws him into the metal wall.

I'm frozen in my place, horrorstruck at watching this boy's chances of life get horribly ripped from him. I should move, but I can't. I've seen people die, but I've never seen someone die like this. I've never seen murder. A girl's scream finally pulls me from my trance. Someone else is dying. I tear my gaze away from the boy and jump into a sprint towards the trees, praying for all the speed I can muster.

But this time a different movement catches my attention, but now it comes from my side. I hardly have time to register the knife being thrown at me. At the last second I think to block it, and raise my arm over my face. The blade cuts into my forearm, ripping the skin open from below my wrist around to the top of my arm. I don't notice the pain so much as the terror of someone coming after me.

Stupidly, I leave the knife, just wanting to be far away from the cornucopia. It's too late when I think of taking it. No going back now. Keep moving forward. I break into the trees without another knife coming at me but I still don't slow down.

I feel like prey, running without care if a pursuer is behind me or not, without thought of fighting. My eyes dart around the trees and underbrush, looking for anything that might be more than it seems. The only thought that goes through my head is _run, don't stop running_. Fear takes over, propelling me farther than I should be able to go; faster than I thought I could. As far as I know someone could be behind me, waiting for me to slow down so that they can grab me.

After at least fifteen minutes I finally move to a jog, desperately trying to catch my breath against the freezing air. Ice stabs into my lungs, keeping them from expanding without biting pain. Some of the immediate panic is beginning to wear off, allowing me to think. I need to get as far as I can as fast as I can, that much I know. Derek told me that I need to find water as soon as possible. I glance down at the snow- it'll be helpful as a last resort but if I can find a small stream or creek then I'll be set.

It's eerie, jogging through the thick forest. It looks so much like home, thick masses of trees interrupted by tiny pockets of grass where the sun can hit the forest floor, letting the sun dapple the ground. Even the way the snow clings to the pine needles, and melts around the base of the tree… if it wasn't summer and I didn't know better, I could believe I'm in the heart of District 7.

An hour or so passes before my lungs demand a break and I stop moving. My heart is pounding so hard that I swear my thick winter coat is vibrating from the power of it. I can tell the adrenalin is beginning to fade; my lungs are burning, my legs ache with so much movement, and the cut down my arm which I had forgotten about, is throbbing painfully.

Standing with my back against a particularly wide tree, I pull up my coat sleeve to find my shirt underneath caked in blood. I wince as I pull it away to reveal a deep, red gash across my forearm. Any knife from back home wouldn't have done nearly as much damage as this; but this is The Hunger Games, and each blade is so sharp it can cut by contact alone.

Thankfully I don't think it reaches the bone but it's still deep enough to worry me. I use my right hand to pick up some snow and wash the dried blood away. Taking a cautious glance around me I pull the backpack off my shoulder and drop it in front of me. Inside is a pair of thin, black gloves, a package of dried meat, a roll of crackers, a small bundle of rope, and an empty metal water bottle. No weapons- that's not good.

I zip it back up just as a cannon rings out. I flinch so bad that I drop the backpack out of my loose grip. I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to muffle my startled shout. It takes me a second to realize that it's from the cornucopia. I stand up straight, tense and ready to run at the first sign of movement. I all but hold my breath as I count the cannon shots. Eleven. _Eleven_ shots ring out, meaning that eleven tributes are already dead. It's a high number for the bloodbath. But I guess that's a good thing, maybe these Games will be short- maybe there'll be less competition.

Before setting out again I take a careful evaluation of my surroundings. Luckily the snow is so thin that it's difficult to follow my tracks. But it still makes me nervous that someone could be following me and I wouldn't know it. I try to be careful about where I step for the next few hours but as the day ticks by and I get more exhausted, it becomes harder to keep from stepping in the snow piles and disturbing the underbrush.

My feet are aching and my arm is throbbing by the time the sun begins to dip in the sky. I've seen a rabbit and a squirrel, along with the tracks of other creatures. Theoretically I could hunt, but I have no weapon or the means to make a trap, and I've never been much good at it anyway.

I need to stop for a while, rest and allow myself to regain some of the energy I spent. I search for a hiding place when the shadows of the trees start to stretch into one another. Eventually I find a large boulder with a thick pine tree growing beside it. I spend some time moving braches around to conceal a tiny hiding spot underneath it, and wiping away as much of my footprints as I can.

Just as the sky begins to turn black I finally crawl into the hole, laying on my back so I can see pieces of the sky through the branches. I'm not tired, but physically I'm exhausted. My eyes are drooping within minutes, and as I begin to lose consciousness I can only hope that I survive to see another morning.


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm searching for something that I can't reach"

~Halsey

The farther the sun is gone from the sky the colder it gets. I wake up a few times every hour I'd guess, half from fear and half from the excruciating cold biting into my skin. Even bending my fingers send painful aches down to the bone. It's brutally cold, but I won't freeze to death- at least not tonight.

I take solace in the fact that I haven't heard any footsteps, or any other noise signaling another tribute. As far as I can tell, and as much as I hope, I am alone.

I don't think I sleep for more than two hours when something pulls me out of my sleep for good. I lay completely still, not making a sound. I don't know if it was a dream, or a squirrel in the trees, or even just paranoia, but I swear I can hear noises coming towards me.

After a moment I can hear the sound again, the sound of boots tiredly dragging against twigs. Silently I roll onto my stomach, propping myself up so that I can see between the tree branches. The sound comes and goes, making me think it's gone before it suddenly remerges.

Then, between the trees, a figure emerges. He's tall, not particularly broad but definitely larger than me. As he moves closer I'm able to make our more of his features; particularly the sleek axe hanging limply from his hand.

A lump rise in my throat, sending a fiery wave down into my stomach. I can tell he's exhausted by the slump in his shoulders and how he drags his feet. Even so, I'm sure he could overpower me. Unless he didn't see me coming…

Without a weapon I don't have a chance at winning in a fight. I don't have the brains to construct some elaborate trap, or the patience to trick everyone into killing each other. What I need is a weapon to use when the time comes, and this may be my only chance at getting one.

Above me comes a loud echo of music that makes me flinch, crunching some twigs. I freeze, looking towards the boy, but he seems too distracted by what I've realized is the recap.

Luckily, I can see some patches of the sky from where I lay. I keep close watch on the boy, who has stopped about twenty feet from me to stare at the sky. Finally, I allow my attention to be split between him and the projection above. I want to know who's left.

The first face to appear in the sky is Platt, the Career from District 4. I'm momentarily surprised. Careers never die at the cornucopia… I wonder who killed him. I don't have much time to contemplate his death before the young girl from 6 appears, followed by her district partner. Both tributes from 8 are gone, as is the boy from 9 and girl from 10. My chest tightens when the young smile of the twelve-year-old boy from 11 appears. David is his name; I take note to remember his name. He never had a chance- he was doomed from the start. I just hope he didn't suffer. After him are both the District 12 tributes; they never seem to have any luck.

The anthem plays for a few more long seconds before plunging me back into the cold night- faced with a decision I don't want to make.

I hear the boy sigh. I'm pretty sure he's Kiyo, the boy from 10, which would mean his district partner is dead. For some reason it makes me think Kane. I don't know why but I wonder if he's with the Careers. I expect he is. Is he afraid? Are _any_ of the Careers? I have no attachment to Kane, and I'm sure if I ever talked to him outside the Games we wouldn't get along, but there's an attachment between us. He's from home; together we are the only people to come from District 7- the land of trees and paper. He knows what my life is like and I understand his. When it comes down to it, I know I'll be sorry that he's dead. I wonder if he'll feel the same about me.

Kiyo sighs again, bringing me out of my partial daydream. The familiar tendrils of fear are still writhing in my gut, making me feel uncomfortably close to vomiting. I know what I should do- what I _need_ to do, but I don't know if I can do it.

I clench my fists together. I _can_ do it. I have to. If I don't, then someone else will and I'll be left weaponless and alone. I watch in agonizing silence as Kiyo walks a few feet away before slinging off his own backpack. How would I even do it? I don't even know how to kill him.

Again, I realize that isn't true. There are ways to kill people without having a weapon. Derek told me more than I wanted to hear about killing- which is anything at all. But actually being faced with having to do it is different than imagining it. The moment I make myself known I put myself at risk. He could easily turn around and kill me if I didn't do it right. But the potential consequences of _not_ killing him and _not_ having a weapon for the end are too great to risk.

I try to breathe deeply and stop the tremble in my arms. It's hard to tell if I'm shaking because I'm nervous, or because I'm shivering. The temperature plummets with each minute, and I know it's not enough to cause me to freeze to death, but it's still enough to hinder my movements.

Kiyo settles down about twenty feet from where I'm hidden. He must have been waiting for the nightly announcement to stop walking. I'm sure the Gamemakers played it when he was beside me on purpose hoping that was his plan. They want a show, but I'll bet they think it would be the other way around.

It feels like hours that I lie there, not moving, barley breathing. I watch as Kiyo sits against a tree, axe lying beside him wrapped in his hand. I want to make sure he's asleep before I crawl out. If he notices me before I'm prepared… I don't think I'd have a chance of coming out alive.

I sit up carefully, straining to watch him for at least two hours. It's a weird sensation, watching his breaths and twitches and knowing that I plan on killing him. If all goes as planned, he'll be dead soon. No more breaths, no more dreams, no more anything.

There's a heavy rock just out of reach form where I lay. I give Kiyo one last long look, waiting for the smallest twitch but when it doesn't come I begin to wriggle my way free of the tree. It's slow going, to make sure I stay silent and don't accidently snap a twig and wake him up.

Finally, I'm free of my hideout. I sit crouched, watching to make sure he's still asleep. I keep my eyes firmly on Kiyo as I peel off my gloves and pick up the heavy rock in my hand; I need to make sure I keep my grip on it. It's bitterly cold, making my fingers clench but I don't let it go. It's jagged and I can already tell it will probably cut into my hand. But hopefully it will do more damage to him, making this fast and easy. I mean to kill him, but I don't want to make him suffer.

Eventually I run out of excuses to sit still and I rise to my feet, crouched slightly out of terror. I hold the rock ready to use, like it might actually be some sort of defense if he hears me coming.

As I get closer I can hear the soft breaths coming from his mouth. His head leans back against the trunk of the tree, turned just enough that I can see the soft skin of his neck. The axe lies loosely in his hand, temptingly close. His backpack, identical to the one I wear however, is lying over the blade and a portion of the handle. I wouldn't be able to even move it without waking him up. There's a chance I could grab it and kill him before he could react, but more than likely he's wake up at the first sound he hears and throw me off just to kill me with it instead. So I have the rock. Hopefully it buys me enough time to take it from him…

I stop once I'm beside him. His head nods slightly against the tree but he has no idea I'm here. I bounce the rock in my hand, gripping it tightly. I pause before moving, glancing into the trees around me. Cameras must be watching right now. Let them see. I take a deep breath, apologizing silently to him before I swing the rock as hard as I can into his skull.

It seemed so simple before this moment. All I had to do was knock him out, grab the axe, slit his throat, and run. I didn't think he would fight. But as soon as I strike the blow he jerks awake, yelling out in surprise. Immediately he lunges at me, which surprises me enough that he manages to grab hold of my coat. I stumble and fall onto one knee, my other lands on his stomach, causing him to gasp at the sudden pressure.

It's not what I'm prepared for but I don't have another option. I take advantage of Kiyo's brief distraction and swing the rock into his face. He falls to the side with the force, giving me to chance to press my knees into his shoulders and grab the hood of his coat and pull his head back towards me.

His arms writhe at his sides, desperately trying to push me off- but I'm not moving. I swing my arm again, flinching at the crunch that comes from the top of his head. I can feel the fabric of my coat and shirt pull against my torso and he pulls against it.

I hit again and again and again. Something had taken over, forcing me to move, my muscles to contract. I've come this far. At some point he stops trying to pull me off and instead digs his fingers into my side. I grit my teeth as his fingernails begin to tear at the skin near my hip. He's frantic, his movement becoming more spastic each time I swing the rock into his skull. His screams become louder and higher in pitch. There's a gurgling coming from him, like an animalistic growl that makes me think he's chocking on blood- it drips from his mouth, and, each time I strike, it sprays against my face and arms.

Then suddenly his hands fall away and his head lolls to the side. I don't know how close to death he is, though I know it has to be close. So I hit again, and again, and again until my arms are shaking and a howling sob type scream rips out of my throat, in tune with the cannon that explodes overhead.

I can feel my body go cold and give up. I don't care about the boy beneath me, or the blood covering my face. I don't care that he's dead or that I killed him. All I can focus my attention on is the pain shooting down my arms.

I can't take it anymore. The rock falls, landing on the frozen earth with a loud thud. I roll back on my heels, letting out an exhausted sob. I look up at the sky, starring at the twinkling stars in between the sparse leaves. I know I should be cold but a heat rises out of my stomach, surging up to my face so fast that it snaps me back to attention and I look back down at Kiyo. His face is shredded. There's more blood covering us and the ground nearby than I thought possible.

Horror overtakes me, pushing me away from the body into the snow. All the cold creeps back in, reclaiming what belongs to it. I swear I can still hear the cannon, bouncing around in my skull. I just kept swinging and swinging. I couldn't think of anything else but breaking open his skull. I think I'm going to vomit but after a few moments of pulsating nausea, I rise to my feet. I did this. This is my fault.

I've never felt as exhausted as I do now. But I have to move. Even if I could rest, I wouldn't. I can't stand being near this place anymore. I take a few shaky steps forward, walking farther around Kiyo's body than necessary. Shame mixes with the fear and anger coursing through my veins. His family was probably watching. They saw what I did to him.

I pick up the axe, feeling the familiar weight in my hand. I take his backpack and turn to leave without checking its contents. Right now I don't care. All that matters is leaving this place. As the snow crunches beneath my feet and I cross beneath the trees I can feel the cold ice over my heart. Whatever happens, I'll fight it. Right now no one can stop me. I'll kill them all if I have to- every last one of them.


	11. Chapter 11

"I wasn't always this way

I used to be the one with the halo

But that disappeared when I had my first taste and fell from grace

It left me in this place

Now I'm starting to think maybe you like it"

~Halestorm

It's a few hours before the sun rises. My legs ache but my arms _burn_. I can't go much farther without resting but the hope of finding somewhere as my hiding spot keeps me moving forward. I'm so tired that I only notice the wide stream flowing before me once I'm a few paces from walking in. I pause at the bank, regaining some of my attention. I glance around cautiously, looking for any movement or footprint that might indicate another tribute. But I can't find anything. Even so I remain standing for several long minutes, listening to my breath over the quiet rush of water.

I nearly fall to my knees as I approach the stream. My hands tremble as I pull both the backpacks in front of me- mine and Kiyo's. I dig out the water bottle and quickly check the second backpack for one, but no luck. All that's in there is another roll of crackers, another pair of gloves, and two small throwing knives. I put one in my belt and tuck the other one away in an easy place to grab if I need to.

The water is bitterly cold, stinging my fingers as I fill the water bottle. As thirsty as I am, all I notice is the blood crusted over my fingers, slowly washing away where water drops hit.

I sigh and set down my water bottle. Before scrubbing the blood away, I look once more for anyone near me but find nothing. It's relatively easy getting the blood off my hands and face but as for the front of my coat there's not much I can do. As soon as I'm aware of it, it's nearly unbearable to wear it anymore. If I wouldn't freeze to death without it, I'd take it off. But I know that's not an option, so I get as much as I can off and then give up.

Only once I drink my fill do I rise back to my feet and give the area a closer observation. On this side of the stream tress are scattered, most with thick foliage hanging low over the ground. Rocks are scattered, clustering at the water's edge were a thin layer of ice spreads between them. Then, across the water, a steep hill rises, sleek with mud and snow. There's water, shelter, protection on one side… This is the best place to hide that I'm likely to find. Already I see a tree with wide enough branches to hide me under that's a safe distance from the creek bed.

It feels wrong, making camp. I should be running, never staying still and never giving anyone a chance to catch me. But I remember what Derek said and it keeps me focused. I need the rest of the tributes to kill each other off. I need them exhausted, dehydrated, injured, and afraid. Only then can I strike. Until then though, I need to lay low and stay out of sight.

I dig out the snow from under the branches, leaving just enough room for me to lie under them. I have to cut some down and rearrange some others so that I'm invisible from all but those who know I'm here.

Finally, I have an opportunity to rest. It's small and uncomfortable but, for the moment, it's safe and that's more than I can ask for. I keep the axe held over my knees and I repeatedly check the knife in my belt. But I don't hear a sound- from here I can't even hear the stream. It feels better like this, watching and waiting, but in doing so, I'm reminded of the wound on my arm that I got at the cornucopia.

It stings as I roll up my sleeve and I'm surprised at how much blood is crusted on my skin. The adrenalin must have quenched the pain but now I can feel the twinges of it creeping up my arm. It definitely needs stitches but without sponsors there's no chance of getting those. But my ploy may have worked at least once- whoever threw that knife didn't pursue me to finish the job. Instead, I got away with nothing more than a wound that could ultimately get infected and kill me. But at least I have a chance.

Even now blood trickles out of the cut where my movements tear the skin open again. I reach for my backpack, pulling out one of the gloves. It stretches enough that I'm able to wrap it around my arm and tie the fingers together to keep it secure. I know it won't do much, if anything at all, but it will at least keep it protected.

I allow myself some of the crackers and dried meat- not much but enough to satisfy my stomach for a little while. The problem with eating so well in the Capitol is that I'm now unprepared and not used to going hungry. If I has come here straight from home, I wouldn't need to eat much at all. To be fair, there's a high likelihood I'd starve to death, too, if I'd come from home, so there's that.

My body aches with exhaustion but for hours I sit vigilant, waiting for something to happen- _anything_ to happen. I sip water periodically and fiddle with the axe blade. At what I would guess is about five in the evening I feel my eyelids begin to droop and my head jerks each time I succumb to sleep and I quickly snap back to consciousness. I might as well sleep while I can. Besides, it will be dark in a few hours and I'll be all but impossible to spot.

With my hand still tightly clenches around the axe, I lie my head down on the bed of pine needles and let my eyes fall shut with surprising ease.

I'm surprised to see the deep shadows of evening falling over the snow when I wake. It's been hours since I feel asleep and I didn't so much as stir. As soon as I become alert however, I pull myself up so that I'm sitting tall and hold the axe tightly in front of me. Peering out between the branches, I can't find any sign that anyone is or has been here. Still, cautious and silent I drink some water; I figure it's better to stay hydrated while I still can.

The cut on my arm throbs whenever I put my weight on it. Carefully I move the fabric over to check on it. The skin around the edges are bright red and dried blood is still crusted around my arm. It could be worse but it certainly isn't healing as well as I'd like. Without sponsors there's no chance of me finding sutures or any sort of antibiotic without getting it off another tribute which, honestly, I doubt will happen.

Hours roll by, turning the evening chill into a night induced freeze. Once all light is gone from the sky I pull some of the dried meat out of my backpack. Nearly as soon as I take a bite I hear a cannon sound. I freeze, my mouth clamped down on the piece of meat so tightly that my jaw aches with the pressure. There's no reason to think whoever died is anywhere near me and yet I can't get my body to relax. After long minutes of silence, I finally force down a few bites of food and some water but my hunger has disappeared. Someone else is dead; that brings us to thirteen dead, eleven more of us are left.

I lean against the tree trunk, my hair catching against the pine needles. The moon casts an eerie blue light over the forest, illuminating the scattered patches of snow and making my breath shine in the air.

My hand instinctively works its way towards my neck, resting on my coat where my necklace lies beneath. The taste of the jerky is still fresh in my mouth from where the hard meat stuck between my teeth. My grandmother always used to tell me that jerky saved her life more than once when she was a child. As hard as it is to imagine, she grew up with even less than what we have. She and her four siblings had one bed between them and with a drunk father, little money for food.

My grandmother has always been the most resilient person I knew. She's lost everything; her home, her parents, her husband, her daughter, and her health and yet she doesn't cry or scream or give up. It used to frustrate me when I was younger and she was still healthy enough to walk around on her own that she would never talk about her life. She said it didn't matter, that talking about her past would make me hurt. But I found that when she cooked, she let go.

She used to make bread, soups, little pastries when she could. But mostly she would take whatever meat we had and cook half of it while cutting and drying the rest for winter or when we couldn't get enough to fill our bellies. I think it made her feel useful and strong to be doing something even when she couldn't work. Johnathan would go with my parents to the lumber yard and Cam and Lily were too young to be of any help, so I worked with her. She would tell me stories as she cooked, sometimes nothing more than tricks to make food last longer, but sometimes long tales about her childhood and everything she went through. I can't imagine the pain she must be in now.

I let out a mournful sigh and look down at my hands. As often as I think I hate the life we've been given and curse the Capitol and Peacekeepers and all those that enforce the repression, I know there's still good, and no one showed me that more than my grandmother.

It isn't home that's hell- it's here.

When the recap appears in the sky an hour or so later, I lean forward to peer through the branches. The fourteen-year-old face of the girl from 5 stares down from the sky. I'm back under my canopy, curled up tightly against the cold before the anthem is finished playing. Eleven more. Eleven of us have to die before it's over. Eleven people have to die wishing they could live.

I press my lips together, fighting the grimace that emerges when I remember Kiyo's broken and bloody face lying on the ground beneath me. Eleven more deaths like that one- that's too much for a lifetime.


	12. Chapter 12

"(Mother)

Come back to me, it's almost easy

(Said it all)

Come back again, it's almost easy

(You'll learn your lesson)

Come back to me, it's almost easy

(But still you'll fall)

Come back again, it's almost easy"

~Avenged Sevenfold

When I wake up I don't open my eyes. I keep them shut, lying still and silent. As soon as I open them it means I'm back in the arena, I'm fighting for my life and I'm ready to kill. Slowly I bend my fingers and toes against the cold hours of stillness. Sitting up, I take out the water bottle and drink the rest of it. I want to eat some more but I decide to hold off until at least the afternoon.

I want to stay hidden under the tree but I know I should fill my water bottle and walk around to stretch my legs and make sure no one's nearby.

With the axe held ready in my hand, I crawl out from under the branches and begin towards the stream. The only sound I hear is my feet stepping softly on the cold earth, and, faintly, water rushing downstream.

The edges of the stream froze overnight but under the morning sun they've already begun to crack so it's easy to clear an area large enough to fill my bottle in. I'm crouched on the bank, my axe lying at my feet as I screw the lid of the water bottle on when a noise catches my attention. My head whips to the side, starring in between the tree trunks, desperately searching for the source of the noise.

I rise to my feet cautiously, leaving the water bottle on the ground and holding my axe defensively. I don't notice it at first, I only hear it. When the massive shape moves forward it takes me a moment to understand what I'm looking at; but when I register the enormous bear type creature lumbering towards me, my blood runs cold.

Instinctually I take a step backwards but that catches its attention. Two, black, menacing eyes lock onto me. I think it's a bear, at least, that's what it looks most like. But it's _enormous_. And every bear I've ever seen is black, maybe brown, and they almost never care about us. This thing is watching me intently. It has to be a mutt; something the Capitol created to tear tributes apart- to tear _me_ apart

I don't know how long I stand there, staring into the beady growling eyes. Puffs of steam escape from its nostrils with each breath. I can see the pink of its mouth between long pointed teeth. I've been afraid before- I've been so terrified that I couldn't breathe, but standing here, watching the menace that I know has every intention of killing me, the horror I feel is beyond words. I feel like I've lost all ability to think. Some primal part of my brain keeps me standing, keeps me from crumpling beneath the massive claws.

Finally, the bear moves, taking a giant stride towards me and releasing a bone-shattering growl. The sound snaps me back to attention. I step farther away, each step becoming quicker and more frenzied. The bear starts at a walk, following me for a few steps before I begin to run. I can hear the mutt behind me, its footsteps crackling through the snow as it picks up speed. Adrenalin propels me faster than I think I've ever gone before but even in my panic I know that I won't be able to outrun it for long.

I'm searching for anything- anything to give me some sort of advantage where I can hide or get away from the mutt behind me but all I can see are the trees, rows and rows of trees. Gritting my teeth, I will myself to run faster. I can hear the mutt's breath; casting a quick glance over my shoulder, my heart sputters to see how close its gotten in the seconds long sprint.

My father taught me never to climb a tree to get away from a bear but right now I don't see another option and maybe with its immense weight it won't be able to climb after me…. It's desperate but in a few seconds I could be taken down with one of its enormous paws.

As quickly as I can, I dodge to the side, hoping the mutt takes more time to turn after me. I grab the branch of the first tree in front of me, pulling myself up with surprising agility. My foot is barely out of reach when the mutt reaches me, its claws sinking deep into the wood where a moment ago it would have grabbed flesh. I know it won't give up so I pull myself higher, hoping I'm high enough that it can't follow me.

I get maybe two or three branches above the creature's head when pain explodes in my leg. I don't perceive the scream that erupts from my throat. My hands are clenched around branches above my head, even with the axe still held in my hand. Looking down I see that the bear has risen on its back legs, the claws on one of its front paws are dug deep into my calf. Instinctively I try to pull my leg away, sending an even more nauseating wave of pain up my leg as the muscle rips. The bear lets out an angry cry, digging its claws in deeper and beginning to pull me down towards it. I cling tightly to the tree but the hand that holds onto the axe is slipping, forcing me to rely almost entirely on my other hand. But the mutt is immensely strong and my hand slips loose from the branch.

For a moment I swear my heart stops. I can feel myself falling and I know that I'll die. Yet, I somehow catch myself and pull my body close to the trunk. At some point the bear must have lost its grip on my leg because I'm able to pull myself to the side of the tree- not out of the mutt's grasp but I now can watch its movements. Once again it lets out an angry screech, rising back onto its legs to swat me out of the tree.

I can feel my heart beating in my ears, the pressure so intense I swear my head might burst. I tighten my grip on the axe handle, suddenly aware of its presence. The mutt's black eyes are starring right at me, bloodlust so strong that it had to be manufactured- no animal is so bloodthirsty. I swallow heavily, bracing one arm on the trunk and readying the axe.

Before it can lunge at me, I swing at it. A jolt shoots up my arm when the blade buries itself in the mutt's face, ringing against the bone. A howl more horrible than anything I've ever heard comes from the creature. Any other animal would run, but this is a Capitol manufactured mutt and its one and only desire is blood. My hit is fatal, I can tell that much, but there's still long minutes before it will succumb to its wound and in that time I know it has every intention of killing me.

I'm closer to its mouth than I was before so as it lunges at me I can feel it's' hot breath against my skin. Somehow I'm able to pull the axe away with only one arm. I go to swing the axe again but the mutt grabs my ankle with its paw, pulling me off balance. My hold on the trunk keeps me from falling to the ground, but now I'm in an awkward sitting position on the branch, one swipe away from being the mutt's next meal. Without aim or precision I swing the axe, letting go of the tree and throwing all my force into the blow.

It hits- right into the crease between the mutt's head and shoulder. I don't know if it's dead or only injured because the force of the swing knocks me even more off balance and once again I'm falling. This time there's no branch for me to grab or anything to stop my fall. I drop the ten or so feet, landing on my shoulder on the frozen dirt. The air rushes from my lungs, leaving me gasping, desperately trying to roll onto my knees.

Wheezing, I'm able to turn around, ready for the mutt to be in front of me, ready to kill, but it isn't. Its only about two feet from me, huddled in the fetal position- or the closest the enormous creature can come. At first I think it's choking but as I rise to my feet I notice the blood spilling around its head. I must have hit an artery because in the time it takes me to take a breath, it stops moving altogether, except for an occasional blink.

I take a few hesitant steps backwards until my back hits the trunk of another tree. There's no cannon for the mutt but I know when it finally dies. My heart still races but all I can hear now is my breath in my ears, puffing so hard that I'm amazed I can't feel it.

 _I'm alive_. The words seem wrong; like a lie. I look down at the mutt, it's teeth and claws were made for shredding, the muscles in its legs are so sleek that I think it could run for hours. Even its nose and ears are big enough that it would be impossible to hide from. That monster was made exclusively to kill but _I'm alive_.

At first I think I'm going to cry by the pressure rising in my face but I'm surprised when I hear myself laugh. It's quiet and scared, but it's there. I don't even think the Capitol's cameras can hear it. It isn't funny, not even a little.

I stand there with my back against the tree until my breathing slows and the blood soaked mutt becomes little more than ornamental. A pulsating ache starts behind my knee as the adrenalin begins to dissipate, working its way down towards my heel. I take one hesitant step, gasping when pain rips all the way up my leg to my throat. My limbs feel heavy- the axe nearly drags on the ground as I begin limping back towards the stream. I'm alive, while I can still say that I'm going back to the damn river.

I lie on my back under my tree. My calf throbs violently with each heartbeat. Each small movement sends stabbing pain through the raw skin, forcing me to lie still. I want to sit up and look at it again. I know it won't have changed from an hour ago- my calf will still resemble ground meat more than skin, blood will still drip each time I move and rip it back open.

A new kind of fear emerges, pressing down on my chest and bringing tears to my eyes. I can't die like this. My leg has to be okay, at least enough for me to fight because if I can't fight then I'll die. I bite into my lip, fighting the exhaustion that begs me to shut my eyes and sleep. An image of my body, frozen and curled under the tree won't leave me. What if I bleed out? What if it gets infected and I can't move? Blinking up at the night sky through the leaves I will myself to be okay, to stay alive. _Just make it through the night_ , _it will all be okay in the morning_. That's what my mother used to say. I'm sure everyone's mothers said the same thing but something makes it more important when it comes from _your_ mom instead.

Tears rise in my eyes, threatening to spill from the corners and freeze on my cheeks. What I would give to have my mother back, to have her here. She was always so quiet, so kind; even when she was furious with me or my brothers or Lily, we always knew she loved us; when we were starving or freezing or afraid, she always made sure we knew it would be okay. She was caring and smart and beautiful and everything I wish I could be. If she were here now it would be okay. If she were here maybe it would be okay to just… let go. She would make sure it was okay.

It's almost easy to imagine her sitting beside me, her warm hand holding mine, whispering that everything's alright. It's almost easy, but it isn't. She's dead and soon I might be too.

At some point I stop fighting the exhaustion and surrender to sleep. I wake often, immediately falling back asleep after a minute of silent listening. My leg feels hot and hurts tremendously, making my throbbing arm feel like little more than a splinter.

Even as the sun rises on a new day and the bitter chill evaporates in the sunlight, I remain curled up under the tree. I can't bring myself to open my eyes and face whatever might be out there. Another one of those mutts will surely kill me, so I'm hoping the Gamemakers take pity on me and give me a respite before throwing me into another life or death situation.

As if watching the Games was entertaining, it's completely orchestrated. No one runs into each other by accident- that mutt didn't happen to stumble upon the river the same time I did. The Gamemakers are pulling the strings behind this elaborate façade. I know they meant to kill me yesterday. They wanted to get rid of the weakling everyone knew was going to die eventually. _Well_ , I think, _that shows you_.

I lurch forwards when a cannon rings, its deep growl seeming to cling to my ears. A sweat begins to form on the back of my neck despite the biting cold. Someone is always fighting in the arena- if not, it wouldn't be _entertaining_ enough.

Even though I don't want to, I shift my weight and begin to crawl out from under the trees once I'm sure whatever caused the cannon to sound isn't here. I'm able to walk with a limp but I figure it's better than not being able to walk at all. Gritting my teeth through the pain, I shuffle down towards the water, squatting down to fill up the water bottle. I'm hypervigilant, eyes never sitting still. As soon as I can get the lid on I almost run back to the tree.

That night I eat bits of food while waiting for the recap. It was the fourteen-year-old boy from District 3 who died. It's impressive he was even able to survive for four days.

The next day, early in the morning, Kora dies- the eighteen-year-old from 11. Her district partner was the twelve-year-old. I bit my lip when I see her face. She was older and stronger than most tributes from her district. She was probably the only hopeful tribute they've had in years.

I count backwards in my head. Five days have passed. I've spent five days in this arena- six if I make it through the night. I've been gone from home for eleven days I think, maybe ten. It feels like a lifetime; I just hope it doesn't become one.


	13. Chapter 13

"Can I clear my mind? Leave it all behind

Start to pick up all the pieces

Can I hide the scars? Just like prison bars

That have always seemed to confine me

Will we save it all? Even from the fall

Is there time left for revival?

Can I be convinced that some hope exists?

With these wounds cut so deep in my soul

Can we become whole?"

~Disturbed

The sixth day of The Hunger Games passes without a death. So far, so late into the night, it looks like the seventh day will pass much the same. The Gamemakers won't stand this inactivity for long. Hopefully some other poor tribute had a run in with a mutt and survived, or someone got mangled, or anything happened to keep the Gamemakers from stepping in.

I lay curled in a ball, feeling the throbbing in my leg but choosing to ignore it. Sunrise is a few hours off but I can't sleep anymore. The feeling of dread gets stronger by the minute, wrapping itself around my throat and burning in my lungs. Nothing's happened in days- at least not to me. It's time for me to be in the spotlight, but I'm not ready to face it, be it mutt or otherwise.

As I lie awake I watch the forest lighten. The forest is beautiful by any standard, with the snow dusted over the trees and the pink light dappling the floor below. But past the beauty, this arena is unmistakably hell.

From far off I think I hear a noise. I sit up quickly, hugging the axe to my chest. Seconds of silence pass before I hear it again- the sound of footsteps. Immediately my heart starts hammering. Another mutt? A lump rises in my throat as the footsteps come closer. They're too light to be a mutt but they're moving fast. Whoever it is, they're running. I beg my breaths to quiet as they approach. I want to turn and look but I'm afraid they'll notice the movement.

From my left the figure finally stumbles into view. It's a girl but that's the most I can recognize from her blood soaked, stumbling form. I bite into my lip as she trips, an agonizing yelp escaping from her bloody mouth as she hesitantly rises back to her feet. Her arms clutch her stomach where blood is dripping between her fingers. There's a rip in the side of her pants, even more blood soaking her pant leg. I pull my knees up towards my chest, shifting my weight so that I'm sitting on the balls of my feet.

She would be easy to take out. Already she's not going to survive. In her state she'll be lucky to survive on her own without anyone coming after her. Eventually the Gamemakers will kill her; set a mutt on her, burn her in a fire. Either way, she's going to die and it's going to be painful. I could kill her, make it fast and painless. It would be a mercy to her, and it would lessen the competition for me.

Breathing quickly, I wait until she moves far enough away that she won't notice me coming out from under the tree. She falls again just as I crawl out from under the branches. It takes her longer to get up this time, the moan she makes causing my stomach to clench in sympathy. _She's in so much pain_. Whoever did this- _whatever_ did this- is a monster.

My eyes are focused on the girl. She can hardly walk more than five steps without stumbling, each time taking longer to get up and with more obvious pain.

Sweat beads on the back of my neck despite the cold. Although I grip the axe in my hand, my fingers hover over the knife in my belt. Which will be easier? Which will be faster? I conceal myself behind a tree while I hesitate. The thought of crawling back under the tree and waiting for the girl to wander off to die crosses my mind but, biting deep into my lip, I know I can't do that. The Gamemakers sent her this way on purpose. If I don't give them a show, if nothing happens today, then I don't doubt I'll wake up in the night to find my throat slit.

The girl falls again, grabbing my attention. She's down on her knees, both hands clutched to her stomach. At first I think the quaking in her shoulders is her breathing but when I hear the muffled sounds I realize she's crying. She sits there for longer than she has before, her head bowed downwards as if in prayer. Could she possibly be praying? It seems crazy, turning to any God after everything that's happened. Sighing quietly, I tighten my grip on the axe and carefully step out from behind the tree.

It'll be easier if she doesn't see me. I take each step with care, making sure it's silent and that the girl doesn't turn towards me. Her cries help muffle my steps. I freeze when she slides off her knees, leaning against a thin sapling. She moves so that her legs stretch in front of her and leans her head against the trunk. She sits still for a moment, her eyes closed against the tears that slide down her cheeks. For a moment she looks at peace. As soon they open, however, they snap towards me and grow in terror.

I brace myself, expecting her to run or fight or do anything at all. But she doesn't. Instead she sits still, clutching her wound closed and staring at me in horror. Cautiously I take a step towards her, waiting for her to move. When she doesn't, I close the distance, stopping only when I'm just out of her reach. As pitiful as she looks I'm not letting my guard down.

Her eyes are brown, but not muddy and clouded like mine. Instead her eyes are vibrant, full of life and color; the sun dances on golden flecks circling her pupil, making her look like she's gazing into a fire. Her face molds into a grimace in an instant, tears rushing from her eyes as her fingers tighten around her stomach. Through pain-filled breaths her gaze falls from my face and lands on my axe. I press my lips together nervously. Is she going to fight me? Slowly she looks back up at my face, her expression fighting with her fear and settling into a mask of acceptance. With a quick dip of her head she acknowledges what I'm here to do. Still, I can see the way her muscles tense. She wants to run, to fight, to survive, but she can't.

A heavy knot forms in my stomach, climbing slowly into my throat. I take the final step towards her, knowing that she won't be able to fight. Cautiously, I kneel beside her, laying my axe on the frozen dirt and pulling the hunting knife free of my belt. It's smaller and sharper- it will make it faster and less awkward. I hesitate before lifting it, dread pulling at my limbs. I don't want to do this; I don't want to kill this girl. She jerks her head back, either as a spasm or from fear.

I wrap my fingers tighter around the knife. Seeing the movement, she pulls away, sobbing as blood leaks from between her fingers.

"No" she begs " _please_."

I look down at her. She must be almost the same age as me, maybe older. Even huddles on the ground I can tell she's taller than me, and weighs more. But none of that changes the fact that I have the higher ground.

She sits forward suddenly, trying to get to her feet. My stomach writhes with pity, watching her movements. She could survive the blood loss. If she has the chance to hide like I am, she might survive. Wanting to do anything else, I take her by the shoulder, using just enough force to make her lean back against the tree.

"What's your name?" I murmur, unwillingly forcing myself to look her in the face.

Her throat quivers, as if she can't get enough air to answer. "Maisie," she finally whispers. A new tear rolls down her face as she meets my stare. "I just want to go home."

I look away from her, down to blood crusted under my fingernails. _So do I_ , I think, _more than anything._

I move the knife ever so slightly, knowing that I have to use it, knowing that more than anything that I don't want to.

" _No_ " Maisie bursts out with another sob. She risks letting go of her stomach to grab my wrist, trying to push the knife away. As weak as she is, it doesn't take any effort for me to peel her fingers away. I stare at her, not sure what else to say. I just need to do it. Making her wait… it's only making it worse.

She doesn't say anything else, instead giving a weak nod and letting her head fall against the tree trunk. The tears don't slow, running tracks down her blood and mud crusted face. I know what's left but I suddenly feel exhausted, too tired to even lift my arm to her throat. All of this is so pointless, so meaningless. Tears of my own begin to burn against the back of my eyes. I blink a few times. I don't have the right to cry- not now. I suck in a deep breath and square my jaw. This is something I have to do.

I shift my weight, causing Maisie to flinch with fear. She's trying to be brave but she's still terrified- I can't blame her for that. I place one hand on her head, trying to be as gentle as I can. Maisie's breath shakes as I lift the blade towards her throat.

"You don't deserve this" I say, looking into her eyes before I pull the blade across her throat.

She lets out a small gasp but doesn't move as blood begins to rush down her chest. Her eyes cling to mine, and, to my surprise, all the fear disappears and is replaced by nothing more than acceptance. I wait a few seconds, my hand still gently resting in her hair. As her eyes begin to droop she looks up to the sky, letting out a long breath before her eyes fall closed.

My chin sinks down toward my chest, tears burning savagely against the backs of my eyes. Blood drenches the knife in my hand but I don't bother wiping it clean before sticking it back in my belt. The cannon sounds only second later. I wait for a few moments, feeling the icy air burn against my hot face. Begrudgingly, I grab the axe from the ground and rise to my feet.

She looks so small, sitting against the tree with her hands folded across her stomach. I need to leave so the hovercraft can come get her and send her home. I wish I could remember what district she was from. I know it doesn't matter but I want to know where her home is, what family will be getting her body in a wooden coffin.

Feeling remorse like a punch in the gut I turn back towards my tree. I gasp instinctively when I turn to find someone standing a few feet in front of me. I don't even have time to blink before the butt of a spear is beat into my skull.


	14. Chapter 14

"Release

Let it feel like…

Let it feel like falling"

~Digital Daggers

My vision is rimmed with black, pulsing in and out with my heartbeat. I know I'm on my back but I don't remember falling. A dark form appears over me but its edges are fuzzy and I can't make out who it is. I think another appears, or maybe even two, but the shapes blur together. There's voices but much like the people, it's slurred and fuzzy.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Pressing my palms into my eyes, I will my senses to return. Pain thrums through my skull but I'm able to push it away. The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow makes me open my eyes again. I have to squint, but already the forms are becoming more clear. Trying to swallow down the throbbing in my head I try to count the shapes. There's five- no, _six_ people standing around me. In an instant I snap into awareness. I scramble to get my hands beneath me so I can at least prop myself up. My eyes lock onto the face of the one standing directly over me, the one whose spear sent me to the ground. I can _feel_ the dismay clench around my gut. The face above me is Hubert, the monstrous tribute from District 2; and with a quick glance around him I know I'm in the middle of the Career pack.

Dark hair hangs nearly over his eyes as he looks down at me. The grin on his face raises goosebumps on my arms. _He's going to kill me_. Panic rises in my chest and I instinctively reach for my axe, only to find it held in none other than Kane's hands. When I notice him standing to the side, his face cool as stone, I'm surprised to find him looking right at me. Silently I plead with him, hoping he'll find some sort of loyalty to me and let me go. But he doesn't say a word; instead he watches with an unsympathetic scowl.

"You killed her" Hubert spits, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he looks over at Maisie's bloody body. There's a terrible glint in his eye when he looks back at me. "Why would you do that? We were having fun."

The grin falls from his face, leaving an even more terrifying glare. He spins the spear in his hand so that the blade is pointed at me. All my muscles clench, waiting for him to plunge it into my abdomen, or maybe my neck. This is what they did to Maisie; tortured her and made her run. That's what they're going to do to me.

"Well," Hubert shrugs his shoulders, looking over at his companions for a brief second before turning his attention back to me. "You'll have to do instead."

He swings his foot and kicks me hard in the ribs. Air rushes from my lungs, making me cry a sound more like a strangled yelp. The force of blow makes me roll to my side, my arms instinctively wrapping around my torso for protection. Another kick comes, this time hitting my spine, sending prickling waves of agony up to my head. In the movement my elbow brushes against the knife in my belt, hidden under my shirt. Another kick once again pushes the air from my lungs, leaving me gasping and writhing.

Ignoring the pain, I curl my knees up close to my chest, hearing the horrible gasps coming from my throat. I'm hyperaware of each movement Hubert makes. I brace myself, expecting another blow but instead he steps away, turning towards the boy from 1. While he's distracted I pull the knife from my belt, holding it tightly by my stomach where it's hidden from view by my curled body.

My pulse hammers in my ears. I have no idea how I'm going to get out of this. There are six of them- six strong, capable, and deadly people who are set on killing me. I grit my teeth as one of the girls walks towards me, muttering something as she looks down at my face. If I'm going to die, then I'm taking someone down with me.

I swallow heavily, daring to raise my head only enough to see where each of the Careers stand. Next to me, standing in the small curve my body makes is the short, blonde girl from District 1. At her side she holds a long and terrifyingly sharp sword. I can easily reach out and grab her… A few steps down from my feet Hubert stands, talking loudly and condescendingly towards the others, who each stand far enough away that I think I could at least scramble to my feet before they reach me.

My fingers are wrapped so tightly around the hilt of the knife that already my knuckles are aching. It's a long shot and I'll only have one chance to do anything more than a pathetic scramble for freedom before that sword punctures my heart.

I take a few gulping breaths, trying to regain the air that Hubert forced from me. Trying to steady my hand, I attempt to swallow my fear and accept that I'm probably going to die here. Maybe I can be as brave as Maisie; maybe I'll go down with some dignity.

Before I can change my mind I kick at the girl's leg, causing her to gasp in surprise. She doesn't fall immediately, but I kick at her knee as hard as I can, rolling onto my back as she falls down on top of me. She shrieks as the knife plunges in between her ribs. Without stopping to look at the others I push her off of me, feeling the wetness of her blood soaking through my clothes. I pull the sword from her hand as I jump to my feet, whirling to face the others who are staring at me with expressions of shock. Adrenalin doesn't let me stop and evaluate. As soon as I'm on my feet I hurl the knife, my aim off from the urgency of the throw. It lands in the center of the other girl's stomach, causing her to scream and immediately pull it out. Beside her, the boy from 1 gives her a concerned look, taking a step backwards as if he might run.

Hubert laughs _loudly_ , sending waves of doubt through my arms and down my legs. The rest of the Careers look nervous, all but Kane and Hubert having stepped backwards, the boy from 1 holding onto the girl's arm as she presses her hand over her bleeding gut.

 _Serves her right_ , I can't help but think, _after what they did to Maisie_.

My eyes flicker between Hubert and Kane, the only two who look ready for attack. They both move towards me, slow and meticulous in their steps. Holding the sword in front of me I walk backwards, I flinch when ice crunches beneath my foot. I'm so focused on the boys in front of me I didn't notice how close to the river I was. Quickly I glance behind me, seeing the dark churning water, ice clinging to the edges for at least a few steps. The bank opposite me rises in a slope too steep and muddy to climb. Looking back at Hubert and Kane, I realize when they've done- pushed me into a corner with no chance of flight. If I want to survive, I'll have to fight.

My jaw clenches, bracing for attack. Kane stops when my feet hit the water but Hubert keeps coming towards me. I hold the sword defensively but clearly I have no training whereas Hubert has spent his whole life preparing for this. As he gets within striking range, he does some elaborate move with his spear with an ease that only comes from experience. This time it isn't the butt of the spear that lashes out at me, but the blade. I hardly have time to react as it slashes at my face. Without thinking, I lunge with the sword, a gasp of shock escaping my lips when the fabric of Hubert's pants rips, revealing a thin red line of blood. He looks as shocked at as I am, taking a step backwards while his free hand hovers over the wound. It's deeper than I thought possible. It shouldn't have been more than a scratch, but it's deep and long.

In my shock I don't notice Kane until he's beside me, throwing me down onto my back. The thin layer of ice breaks beneath me, plunging me into the freezing water. It feels like thousands of needles are poking into my skin, pressing onto each nerve. Once again the air rushes from my lungs, leaving me gasping. Water splashes into my mouth, sending me into a desperate coughing fit, trying to fight against the water and cold to get a mouthful of air.

Kane steps into the water, not even flinching when it rises up past his boots. He holds my axe above my head, positioned to strike. I reach for the sword but my hand just brushes over soft sand and pebbles. Kane stands over me. One hand grabs onto the edge of my coat, pulling my torso up out of the water. Desperately I try to pull myself away but his grip is steel. There's no mercy in his face, only sheer determination. He's going to kill me without any hesitation.

My hands run fervently over the river floor, searching for anything I could use to defend myself. Kane's hand tightens and I know he's only seconds away from slitting my throat. He raises his arm back just as my fingers brush over metal. My heart beats so hard that I swear I can see my coat moving in rhythm with it. I tighten my fingers around the sword, feeling the blade bite into my fingers. I don't have time to find the handle so I ignore the pain as the skin of my fingers breaks under the piercing sharp blade. Kane moves the axe down towards my head but before he can do any more I pull the sword up from the water, thrusting it imprecisely towards Kane. Immediately the axe splashes into the water beside my head. I risk looking up at Kane. The point of the sword has entered just beneath his ribs, angling so sharply up that I know it's gone up into his chest.

He makes a small gurgling sound, almost similar to the sound of air rushing before crumpling forward on top of me. The sword presses deeper into his body as he falls into it. I'm able to wriggle away just enough that I avoid being impaled by the handle. The cannon rings while I'm still in the water, trying to push his body off me. The water makes every movement painful, but I grit my teeth and heave Kane's body away, nearly gagging when water splashes into my mouth and all I can taste is the metallic flavor of his blood.

As soon as his body is off of me, I grab the axe and jump to my feet, expecting Hubert to be after me next. Instead he's standing farther back than when I went into the river, the assurance in his face completely replaced by doubt. The other two have moved off even farther, seemingly leaving altogether.

Hubert meets my eyes for only a moment, looking me up and down and over at his dead companions before stepping backwards and jogging after his companions. Even from here I can see the blood that's stained his pants. Maybe I'll get lucky and it'll get infected.

I stand in the water, my feet in agony against the cold, until I can't see them anymore. Even then I can't bring myself to move. My vision pulses every few seconds, altering the world so that it's all coated in red.

Time seems to slow down, making each breath feel slow and even more painful than the last. I have no idea how long I've been standing in the water, starring off into the trees where the remainder of the Careers fled.

Finally, the shivers become too much for me to ignore and I take agonizing steps forward out of the water. My whole body aches, hot waves of pain washing over my calf and arm, the pain from the cornucopia and the fresh slice across my fingers mingling together. Even my head screams each time I move. Somehow I am alive. As I stumble towards Maisie's body I realize tears have welled in my eyes. I bite into my lip, trying to focus on the pain instead of the urge to fall down and scream.

I slump to my knees in front of her crumpled body, trying to muster the guilt I should be feeling. Slowly I strip her of her jacket, then her shirt. Not caring that the cameras are likely on me, I pull off my soaked clothes and replace them with Maisie's dry ones. I know it means little but I drape my old clothes across her body. She isn't in any pain anymore. Maybe she got the good end of the deal. For her it's all just… over. Maybe that would be easier…

I squeeze my eyes shut, my whole body shaking in the cold. Is winning even worth it? If I live everyday with this pain, is it worth it at all?


	15. Chapter 15

"Fine…

Maybe I'll pretend right now

But I swear to God

I'm gonna change the world

And I promise you

Someday we'll tell ourselves

"Oh my God, this is paradise"

~Pierce the Veil

My eyes fight against the sun, clinging to the bliss of unconsciousness. I keep my eyes shut even as my awareness returns and the waves of pain crash against me. Slowly I peel my eyes open, crust only further trying to stop me. A cannon rang somewhere but I can't bother to get up and hope that I'm safe.

For a moment I'm surprised to find myself still in my hollowed out den under the tree. I thought someone would've found me- either by chance or by the Gamemakers doing. Clearly I'm not going to make it much longer, why would they let me die in my sleep when someone could beat my head in or slit my throat. I spent the entire day here, trying to forget the events of the morning. When the images of blood don't leave my eyes, I stay under my tree, letting another complete day pass by before even bothering to move.

Letting out a sigh, I flinch at the pain in my ribs but I remain curled in the fetal position. I don't know what I want more; to go home or to just… let go. It would be so easy to just stop fighting. I doubt it would hurt much to die; I don't think I can be in much more pain than I am right now. But if I give up, then what's the point?

Scrunching my nose against the pain I roll to my other side. Years ago, my brother Johnathan got into some trouble with Peacekeepers, who ended up breaking nearly all his ribs on his left side. _For days he didn't move, not even to roll over or drink water. My mother and I cared for him until he was able to deal with the pain on his own. There was one night, only about a week after he finally got up on his own, where I crawled into bed with him. We were best friends, Johnathan and I, and whenever I had a nightmare, or couldn't sleep, or got sick, I would sleep with him. I laid next to him, careful not to move the bed because he still winced with almost every movement. I knew he was awake because he always snored when he was asleep, and his breath was still calm and even. We talked for hours that night, about anything and everything our young minds could come up with. He was only fifteen but to me he was as mature as any adult. At some point during the night, hours after midnight, he finally rolled his head to the side to look at me._

 _"_ _I thought I was going to die," he whispered, his eyes glinting against the moonlight._

 _I blinked up at him surprised at his honesty. He was always so firm about protecting me- the whole family. "You can't die" I said._

 _A small smile spread across his face and he nodded slightly. "I'm not going to die yet" he said, "you still need me."_

He died just over a year later. I haven't seen him or heard his voice or had a late night conversation with him in almost four years. He made sure I was happy; he took care of me. It's been so long since I felt the security he gave us.

I still dream about him all the time. Sometimes I wake up with his laughter ringing in my ears or his goofy smile burning behind my eyelids. He never gave up; he never stopped trying. If I have to do this for anyone, it's him.

 _I still need you_.

Groaning audibly, I push myself up. My hand stings as I do so, but I pull out some of the last of the crackers. I take a long drink of my water, small pieces of ice hitting my teeth as I drink. My left hand burns each time I move it, even doing something as simple as eating. Two matching red lines cut across my fingers and palm where the sword blade dug in. The cut is worse on my fingers but neither are too bad. I peak quickly at my forearm and leg, relieved if not happy to see that they're not any worse than the day before. I place both knives in my belt- I'm not repeating what happened two days ago.

I sit under the tree, peering out into the sunny forest for long minutes. I balance the axe across my knees, chewing on the inside of my cheek until it bleeds.

 _You still need me_.

I can hear Johnathan like he spoke the words to me just seconds ago. He would never forgive me for giving up; for letting our family fend for themselves. Even if I don't want to live for myself, I must live for them. I can't hide anymore. As of this morning I've been in this arena for ten days; it's well past time to end it.

The effort of climbing free of my shelter and rising to my feet with my backpack full almost makes me change my mind. After a few steps, my legs get stretched out again. My breath billows in front of my face as I settle into my stride, stopping only to refill my water bottle before taking off through the trees. It surprises me how strong, how confident I feel. Maybe I can do this.

It hits me suddenly that we're down to the final six- five after the cannon this morning. I go over the list in my head of who's left. Me, Hubert, the boy from 1, and girl from 4, and one other that I can't place. They'll have interviewed my family, digging into our past without mercy. Maybe they'll talk about Johnathan and my mother- maybe they won't care about them at all.

At first I'm not sure where I'm going until I realize I'm walking the way I came. The cornucopia is as good a place as any for the Careers to be hiding out. If they're as eager as I am to finish this thing, then it's even more likely.

Sometime just after the sun goes down, I hear another cannon. Could it be one of the Careers? Or the other unnamed person somewhere in hear with me? I bite into my lip, glancing out into the increasingly darkening forest. This close to the end I can't take any risks. I walk a few more feet before finding a tree suitable for the night. I climb to the highest branch I can. If anyone can see me from up here then I should have plenty of warning before they're able to reach me, even with arrow or rock.

I lay my head back against the tree, waiting for the recap. I raise my eyebrows when the girl from 4 appears first. She's the one who I hurdled my knife into. I'm surprised she made it hours, let alone two days before dying. After her is the boy from 5. All that's left is three Careers, me, and one more.

Closing my eyes, I can almost see their deaths. They'll all suffer. There isn't an ounce of mercy left within me. When I find them, I'll kill them. Maybe it will only give me more pain, but for now I have to believe that because of this, everything will be okay.


	16. Chapter 16

"This could be all that I've waited for

(I've waited, I've waited for)

And this could be everything

I don't wanna dream anymore"

~All Time Low

it's difficult sleeping in a tree. I wake up often, repositioning and listening. Tomorrow I'm going to hunt the rest of them down; I can't hide and wait anymore. This is the end game; this is what Derek told me to wait for. I'm tired, and hungry, and hurt, but so are they. If I die, I'm going down fighting.

At dawn I finally give up on getting any more sleep. Cautiously I begin my descent from the reaches of the tree. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my arm and leg, I finally reach the forest floor, hearing the crunch of frozen dirt beneath my boots. I wait for a minute with my back to the tree, listening for the sound of another tribute. When it doesn't come I take a quick drink from the water bottle and a sparing amount of the crackers. I have very little food left. But if this is over soon then it won't matter.

I sigh as I push away from the tree. If I'm going in the right direction, which I think I am, I should reach the cornucopia just before nightfall. I might be able to user the cover of night to sneak up on anyone who may be camping out under the cornucopia. I realize in a gut wrenching moment that I'm relying on the Gamemakers. It's their job to push us all together, to make us fight; and if we refuse, to kill us. I square my jaw and hold my chin high. They won't see how afraid I am- not anymore.

As the day wears on the temperature begins to plummet. I think it's about four in the afternoon when I hear a cannon, but the sky is so gray and cloudy that it could be much later in the day. I flex the fingers on the left hand, feeling the sting of the cut but focusing on the agility, the power in them. At every sound, even that of my own footsteps, my muscles tighten, my heart flutters, and I ready myself to attack. Rarely do I ever hear anything more than the wind or flutter of leaves. Once I see a squirrel, it's movement frightening me so bad I nearly hurtle my knife at it.

The sunlight is all but gone by five or six. Even while moving I can't stop the shivers. My cheeks and nose and burning against the icy air and I'm sure if I could see them, they'd have gone entirely red. Small snowflakes fall intermittently, sticking in my hair and eyelashes. I use the sleeve of my coat to wipe the snow from my face, grimacing when all it does it spread the cold around.

Why is it getting so cold _now?_ I can't imagine it's entertaining to watch tributes freeze to death. Gamemakers rarely kill anyone this late in the game, so why is it so damn cold? I keep my hands curled into balls in my gloves as I walk; it doesn't help much but it's better than nothing. My legs ache desperately by the time the sun has disappeared. The gouges in my calf are screeching against the continuous jolting and all I want right now is a warm fire to curl up next to. A small gust of wind brushes past my face, making me tuck further into my coat. As much as I want it, a fire isn't possible. I have no idea where the others are and in the middle of the night a fire is as good as a beacon. It'll be brutal but I don't think I'll freeze to death- maybe someone else will though, that would be a welcome event.

I glance upwards, squinting my eyes against the snow and wind. I don't expect to see anything more than trees so when a light in the distance flickers, I have to look twice. My feet stop with a determinate crunch. My breath clouds in front of my face but I can still see a small orange twinkle in the distance. Something resembling a laugh builds in my chest. Here I am, talking myself out of building a fire when someone else, not more than fifty feet away decides to take the risk. _That's_ what the Gamemakers were hoping for. They wanted someone to make a fire because we're close enough to see it. Well, right they were. Keeping my eyes locked on the light, I carefully begin to stalk forward, ready with my axe to strike anything that moves.

My heart quickens as I near the small campfire. I wonder if it's the Careers, believing their number and training will keep them safe. Or maybe it's the unnamed opponent finally breaking under the pressure. Whoever it is, they're going to die for their mistake.

I press my lips together, not even wanting to breathe in case it might give me away. After slow minutes of creeping through the trees I finally see a shape huddled next to the fire. There's only one person that I can see. Her back is to me, long blonde hair falling down her spine. From here I can see her shiver, still violent even with the warmth of the fire. My eyes finally land on the long knife sitting on the ground beside her. It'll only take her a second to grab it if she notices me; and who knows if she's able to throw it.

I let out a long breath before taking the final steps towards her. My knife is in my hand but I still hold my axe ready. She doesn't turn when I emerge behind her. I hesitate for a moment when she yawns. Her gloved hands cover her mouth, puffs of white steam curling around her fingers. She has no idea what's about to happen. It feels unfair, it feels _wrong_.

She drops her hand back into her lap, shifting so that her face is even closer to the fire. There isn't a choice anymore. If I want to live, then she has to die. I force the muscles in my jaw to relax, then dig my axe between her shoulder blades.

Her body jerks backwards, hands scratching behind her desperately. I jump backwards as she writhes on the ground. She clasps her neck like it might help me to get her breath. A choked gurgle escapes between panicked breaths. My chest feels like it's about to burst with the pressure building inside. I tilt my head back at look up at the snowflakes swirling around the tree tops. Despite the cold, a sudden heat rushes into my face, causing beads of sweat to form on the back of my neck. The axe shakes in my fist and I have to take several deep breaths before I'm able to regain my composure and look back down at the girl. Blood soaks into the snow and, even against the black of her outfit, seeps through her clothes; her gurgles are increasingly getting louder and more animalistic. I take a hesitant step forward, then another and another until my feet are coated in her blood and I'm standing above her body.

One of her hands falls from her neck, landing palm up beside her face. Her fingers twitch slightly as her chest heaves for breath that it can't get. Already her movements are slower and the blood pouring from her is ceasing. After a few seconds her other hand falls away. My eyes travel from her fingers, to her neck, to her eyes in horror. I don't know where I expect her to be looking, but when her bright eyes latch on to mine I can feel myself flinch. Her face is contorted in a mask of terror; each blink and breath is increasingly more afraid. This is my fault. She's going to die scared, with only her killer to keep her company. A lump rises in my throat- one that feels like thousands of needles as I try to swallow it down.

The cannon booms overhead but I hardly even blink. The girl's eyes fall closed as life flees her body. Tears bead on her face, rolling from her eyes and down her temples, into her bright blonde hair now stained red with her own blood.

"I'm sorry" I whisper so quietly that not even the cameras can hear. _I am so, so sorry_. I try to make her understand that, even in death, I never wanted her to die. I didn't want to take her from her family, from her home. I don't even know her name. I know nothing about the girl lying dead before me and yet right now I feel more bonded to her than anyone else. There's something about taking one's life that connects you forever, because people matter no matter what anyone says; and those there at the beginning and end will always be important.

The crackle of a branch catches my attention. My steps squish in the blood soaked snow as I turn to face the fire. It's small but I'm drawn to the heat. I understand why she did it, despite the obvious risks. Even the small amount of warmth makes my joints burn with relief; tears rise, threatening to spill and freeze against my face. There hasn't been a second of peace, of true relaxation since our names were called at the reaping weeks ago. Yet, if I close my eyes and listen to the soft crackle of the fire I can almost trick myself into believing I'm at home, sitting with Lily and Cam, not a worry that I might die at any second.

Blinking the tears away I quickly put out the fire, making sure to kick snow over the smoking wood. There's a physical pain as I walk away from it and look back at its creator. The girl's eyes are closed, her lips slightly parted, skin deathly pale. I place the knife back in my belt and ball my hand into a fist around the handle of the axe. This isn't what I wanted but it's what I had to do and I won't apologize for it anymore.

I can't escape the scene fast enough. There's a new energy that fuels me forward, keeping my feet moving even when I can't feel them anymore. A few hours pass before the anthem begins. I stop in my tracks, tilting my head up just enough that I can see the Capitol's emblem. The first face is the boy from 1; the one who helped the girl I stabbed with my knife. After him is the bright eyed, blonde girl whose blood still coats my boots. She was from District 9, which would explain the hair and sun tanned skin. She spent her days farming, not killing for fighting or doing anything that could make her a threat. But she did make it this far, and District 9 wins almost as often as District 7, which is almost never.

When the sky finally flickers back to black, I pull myself up into the closest tree. In an instant, all the energy and determination I had is replaced with pure exhaustion. My eyes can hardly stay open once I settle myself onto a thick branch. Before I give in to sleep, however, I look up through the bare branches to where the recap was shown minutes ago. I hope my family is watching, I hope they're waiting for me.


	17. Chapter 17

"Please believe me

That the world deceives me

Don't stand me up

Just leave me

I have fallen again

This is the end

Pain redefined"

~Disturbed

When I wake I'm surprised to see sun dappling the forest floor. A fresh blanket of snow has appeared but already the temperature has risen, making the cold more bearable than last night. I lean forward, digging out the water bottle and rest of the food. I stare the them for a moment, crinkling the wrapping around the crackers between my thumb and forefinger. After a moment's hesitation I eat the rest of the crisps and down the last of the water. The cornucopia can't be more than one or two miles away and as long as the Careers are close, I'm ending this today.

As I climb down and begin my trek towards the cornucopia, I can feel a hardening in my chest. There isn't any more hesitation our doubt in my mind, I _will_ kill them, I _will_ win, and then, I _will_ go home.

I'm surprised by the calm. It feels like the world should be swirling, manifesting the anxiety I feel. It's almost an insult, the beauty of the landscape around me. Forever this forest will now be stained with blood and already I know it will be the source of nightmares for years to come.

It takes less than hour before the trees start thinning and I slow my pace. The cornucopia can't be more than half a mile away, but each step I take closer the longer the time passes. Am I an idiot for walking into this? Is this suicide? My next step falters and I find myself chewing on my bottom lip. I don't want to die- I really, _really_ don't want to die. I pause for a moment to let out a long breath. It's shakier than I would have thought but I stand still until each breath comes out calm and steady. I won't be afraid, at least I won't let the Capitol see it, won't let my family see it.

The sound of a muffled scream sends my blood running cold. It's no secret who could have made that sound; there's only two others, and only one of them could reach such a high pitch. The girl from 4, young and small and just as deadly as her companion. She has to be close, just through the trees up ahead by the sound of it. I swallow heavily, my hands feeling shaky but remaining still. I find myself reaching towards my necklace, gloved fingers pressing against the cool metal of the sun. A string of angry, exasperated curses roll through my mind but I keep my lips pressed shut. Not another sound comes, not even movement.

With my axe raised defensively I begin creeping forward, focusing only on the movement of my feet and not the increasingly overpowering terror. My eyes are wide and my hands are ready but after walking a few feet forward I still don't see or hear them. Doubt begins to prickle at the back of my mind. What if this is some trick? What if I'm walking right up to them with a bow on my head?

Just then I hear footsteps. I stop in my tracks, squinting into the trees to find the source. They get louder and faster until the girl, no taller than me bursts through the trees. She's running but she's not looking at me; instead her head is tossed over her shoulder, looking at whatever is behind her. I don't time to take in her sudden presence until she's nearly in front of me. The moment she looks forward I see her eyes widen but she doesn't have time to stop before I bury the blade of the axe in her chest. She slumps to the ground as the cannon rings. It takes a tug but I pull the axe away and look up to see Hubert jogging slowly towards me with an unreadable expression.

He stops no more than ten feet in front of me, spear in hand and eyes looking down at his dead ally. For a moment I think he's shocked, or at least confused but when he finally looks up at me, the look in his eyes tells me I'm wrong. He slowly cocks his head, his eyes running up and down my body in a way that makes me feel even more exposed.

"You know," he drawls, "I thought winning was going to be difficult but," he shrugs his shoulders, "I guess I was wrong."

In a movement so fast that he looks like little more than a blur, Hubert strikes at me, a guttural growl rising up his throat. I'm only barley able to move out of the way. The sharp edge of the spear cuts through the sleeve of my coat, just nicking the skin of my upper arm where less than a second ago it would have struck my heart. I can't stop the gasp of surprise at his sudden attack but I don't have time to stand still. I take a few, quick steps backwards. I hardly have a chance to breathe when Hubert catches himself and turns towards me. He strikes violently but I'm able to raise my axe up in time to protect myself. My arms shudder with the force of the blow and I stumble back a step.

Hubert walks towards me with a confident swagger. He has no concern or doubt in his mind. His assurance only serves to take away my own. I block another vicious blow but my arms tremble threateningly. Panic wells in my chest, every instinct screaming at me to turn and run. My axe is held uselessly in my hands, being used more as a shield that an actual weapon. He's strong. Very strong.

Too quickly, Hubert expertly maneuvers his spear so that I think he's aiming for my throat. At the last second he drops low and the point of the spear digs into my thigh. The breath rushes from my lungs as I find myself falling onto my back. In a stroke of luck, I manage to keep a hold on the axe, but only barley. My vision dances wildly with the echoing reminders of my wounds. Locking my jaw, I look up at Hubert, who is holding the spear cocked behind him, ready to strike.

A smile spreads across his face, starting small and subtle and slowly progressing to an ear-to-ear grin than raises goosebumps on my arms. We blink at each other, both aware of what's about to happen. I swallow heavily, even my throat trembling with fear. How did it get to this? I'm _so_ close. Tears burn at the corners of my eyes and, for a moment, the thought passes through my mind that it would be so much easier if I just closed my eyes and gave up. The idea is temptingly sweet, to stop worrying, to stop caring, to stop feeling all this agony. But something tugs in my heart, keeping my eyes open and my gaze firm. I can't die, not like this. I promised my family, I promised myself that I would do everything I could and if I just give up? Even if I die, I'll fight to end for them.

I only have once change. If I fail, I die. Hubert's face remains eerily still as he cocks his arm back and, aggressively thrusts it forward. At the last desperate second I throw myself to the side, shock racking my limbs when I realize I actually dodged his blow. I pull my axe out from under me and, without any hesitation, swing it up at Hubert. My arm wrenches as it connects with his hip, vibrating as it digs into the bone. He lets out a yell, filled with just as much surprise as in pain.

Heat trickles down from the base of my neck as Hubert falls to the ground; it spreads down my arms and into my fingers as I sit up, pushing off my elbows so that I'm on my knees. The sound of my own breath invades my senses, blocking out the pain and fear. Exhaustion weighs down on me, burning my lungs to ashes as I crawl forward towards him. This ends now. He has to die; I have to kill him. Gritting my teeth against the spinning of the forest, I rise to my feet, staggering the last step towards Hubert. A feeling akin to laughter swells in my chest as I look down at him, face bloody and terrified.

" _Don't_ " Hubert spits when I pull the axe up from my side.

My eyes are dancing with fury, each cell in my body buzzing with impatience. "Or what?" I growl, " _you'll kill me_?"

The color drains from Hubert's face and I watch his eyes dart around, landing on his spear out of reach before looking back towards me. "You don't want to live with this. It'll eat you alive," he says, words slurring together in panic. I can hear the desperation in his voice; he'll say anything to get me to back up. One movement was all it took to destroy him.

I shake my head slowly, side to side. "You're wrong," I murmur, pressing the blade against his throat. He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, his cheeks already red.

He _is_ wrong. My hand is trembling with the effort to keep from killing him. There's nothing I want more right now than to see him dead, to kill him myself. Yet, for some reason, I feel the need to wait.

"I don't have a choice." I raise my chin and put more pressure on the axe.

He winces and audibly gasps. " _Please_ , don't you have mercy?" he whispers, eyes turning red with tears.

Anger flashes through me, hot with its strength. What right does he have to beg? Why should he ask for mercy? I clench my jaw, the skin of my cheek ripping away so that blood coats my tongue in a few seconds. I've lost control. I'm hanging from a cliff, my fingertips slipping from the edge. But instead of reaching for the rope, I let go.

"You don't deserve it." His mouth is still open when I swing my arm back and bring it down on his throat.

Blood sprays up at me, covering my face in small, red droplets. I drop to my knees, straddling Hubert so that my face is only a foot or so away from his. His eyes are wide but he looks me in the eye as I pull my arm back and strike again, this time in his chest. A scream billows in my throat and I stab again, and again and again even after the cannon blows. Even though I hear it, I don't believe it. I keep swinging until my arm burns, and even then I keep going. Blood covers my face, dripping off my chin onto my thighs.

"Ladies and gentlemen! I am pleased to present to you, the Victor of the seventy-first Hunger Games, Johanna Mason! I give you the tribute of District 7!"


	18. Chapter 18

"I've been falling apart

Self-destructive at heart

It's okay, it's okay if you hate me

I've been living my death

Over and over again

It's okay, it's okay if you hate me

'Cause I hate myself"

~Get Scared

Applause fills the arena, overpowering the pounding of my heart. My eyes trail up to Hubert's face, eyes open and covered in blood. Sudden revulsion takes over my rage, throwing me backwards off his lifeless body, discarding the axe behind me. I have to crawl away, stopping only when my stomach betrays me and I heave onto the snow pile before me, though I don't actually choke anything up.

I'm only partially aware of the hovercraft materializing above me. I'm shaking so hard that I don't think I can stand, let alone grab hold of the ladder descending towards me. I wrap my right arm around my legs, winching when the gash in my thigh makes itself known for the first time. I squeeze my eyes shut, counting the breaths until the wave of pain and nausea become bearable.

My breath is ragged and the weeks of fear and exhaustion are all crashing down on me at once. Yet, I tip my head back towards the hovercraft, its sleek metal hard to look at against the pale white sky. People are still watching; I'm not free yet.

Even though the thought of standing makes me want to cry, I lean forward, shuffling onto my knees before rising shakily to my feet. I sway in place, nearly falling when I look up again. I swallow down another wave of nausea and grab hold on the ladder, just getting my foot in place when the same electric current freezes me in place; without it I don't know if I could hold on all the way up. As it pulls me up I can't help but look down at the arena disappearing below me. It's white, the entirety of it, except for just below me, where a thick stain of red coats the ground.

As soon as I'm inside the ship and the electric current lets me free I collapse to my knees, my vision shimmering black. A pair of hands touches my back, making me jerk so violently that I throw myself sideways, a near blinding wave of pain shooting up my leg. Black silhouettes come towards me, but I can't make out anything about them. My vision is fuzzy and erratic. I can't remember that I'm out of the arena for more than a few second at a time; these people are just even more tributes hell bent on killing me. I thrash against their touch, screams ripping at my throat as I'm forced to my feet and all but dragged to another room.

I'm deposited on a white, wall-length bench. I pull my knees to my chest, ignoring the agonizing pain in doing so and dig my nails into the edge on the plastic surface. Someone approaches me, placing a tall glass of water beside me. I pick it up slowly, surprised at how my stomach yearns for it. The condensation on the glass wipes the dirt and blood from my hand, staining the glass in the few seconds I've had it.

My gaze flicks up to the attendant who gave it to me, already heading back through the glass door I was forced through. I lock my jaw and hurl the glass at them, satisfied when they shriek with shock. But even that relief only lasts for a fleeting second.

There's a dangerous pounding in my head, threatening to send me unconscious at any moment. I glance over towards the door, where another attendant has appeared to help clean the broken glass and sop up the water. I keep my eyes on them as I lie down on the bench, wrapping my head between my arms. It's so _loud_ on the hovercraft. I don't remember all the humming before. Each person to walk by seemingly stomps and the chatter down hidden corridors sounds like screams. I press the heels of my hands against my ears and squeeze my eyes shut. I just want to be home.

After what feels like hours I feel the clunk that signals our landing. My eyes snap open, half expecting to see an army of Peacekeepers marching in to take me away. But instead, I find myself alone, ignoring the now slightly wet attendant standing on the other side of the glass door.

My eyes instinctively search for my reflection, and, when I find it, I flinch at the sight. Blood covers my face, mixed with dirt and streaks. My eyes are wild, full of madness that I can feel pounding through my body.

The attendant's attention is captured by something down the short hallway, making me freeze in anticipation. My heart sinks when two men dressed in white lab coats appear on the other side of the glass, their eyes looking down at me with pity. When the door slides open I jerk up, pressing my back against the cool metal wall. I don't want them near me.

"Johanna," a tall man with slicked back hair smiles at me, his thumb and forefinger rubbing together at his side. "We've arrived back in the Capitol. We'd like to take a look at your wounds, if you'd let us?" He speaks like it's a question, but neither of them wait for my response before coming towards me.

"Don't touch me" I growl at the two men. I don't trust them and I definitely don't want them prodding at me like some animal. The shorter man inches closer, only stopping when I snap my full attention towards him. " _Don't_ " I hiss at him through clenched teeth. They did this to me. This is _their_ fault. I don't give a damn about my wounds, I won't let them near me.

"Let's not make this difficult," the original man speaks again. He's stopped rubbing his fingers and now his hand is reaching into his pocket. Immediately I understand what he's doing. I jump to my feet but before I can take so much as a step the other man grabs my arms as the other jabs a needle into my thigh. I rip my arm from him, but my legs won't hold my weight. I stumble a step before my knees buckle.

My shriek fills the air as I slump backwards, the men's white clad body the only things keeping me from hitting the floor.

When I wake my head is so foggy I feel like I could be sitting in a cloud. I'm on my back, starring up at a blindingly white ceiling. Somewhere behind me something beeping methodically, over and over. I pull my hand out from under the thin white blanket, but before I can reach my face with it, I notice the tubes inserted into the crook of my elbow. Hesitantly I free my left hand from the blanket and touch the tubes, following them as they twist into the wall behind me. When I can't follow the tubes anymore I run my fingers through my hair, surprised at the lack of tangles. That's when I notice the small white bandage around my left forearm. I hold it in front of my face, breathing in the overwhelming smell of antiseptic. There's no more blood on my hands, not even stuck under my fingernails, which are now sculpted into perfect pink ovals. It hits me suddenly that I don't feel any pain in my leg for the first time in days. I don't feel any pain _at all_. I sit up quickly, gasping when a band around my torso keeps me from rising.

Panic immediately rises and I try pulling against the restraint again. It doesn't give way and clings tightly enough that I can't wriggle out from it. Sweat beads on my forehead with the effort of fighting the band. The empty wall across from me suddenly slides away revealing a small dark-haired girl holding a tray. She doesn't look at me as she crosses the room, placing the tray on a small table that she's able to slide over my thighs. I'm able to keep myself propped on my elbows despite the tugging irritation where the tubes are inserted. The girl's fingers press something on the wall behind me and I find the bed rising me into a sitting position.

"What are you doing?" I ask, surprised at the rawness of my voice. Her eyes flicker up to me before looking at the tray of food. I open my mouth again but then I realize, this girl is an avox. Still, I watch her cautiously as she steps backwards from the bed and looks at me through sad eyes. _She_ pities _me_. And I still have my tongue.

"When can I go home?" I murmur, hearing the slight slur in my voice from drugs or being unconscious or something else.

Immediately I realize it's a stupid question. She couldn't answer if she wanted to, and if she could… why would they tell her anything? Ducking her head slightly, the avox girl backs out of the room, the door sliding closed behind her.

I look down at the tray, grimacing at the bowl of yellow broth in the center. I'm hungry but my stomach churns with the thought of eating at all. The band around my stomach is annoying but not particularly uncomfortable. The thought of being restrained sets me on edge but I don't think they have any intention of hurting me- I'm their Victor after all.

I grimace but resolve myself to being stuck in this bed, at least for now. Truth be told, I'm exhausted. I feel groggy, like I've been sleeping for days, but that doesn't make my desire to curl back up any weaker. My hand feels extraordinarily weak as I grip the spoon, shaking slightly as I bring a bite of broth to my mouth. My stomach writhes with each bite I take but soon I find that the broth, water, and applesauce have all been drained. Only once I've set the spoon down do I realize how quiet it is. Surely I'm being observed, but I can't see or hear anything other than the incessant beeping. I open my mouth to call out to anyone when a quiet whirring sound catches my attention. I flinch as a cold liquid rushes from one of the tubes into my arm, almost immediately sending me back to sleep.

The next time I wake the same routine repeats; I eat, I fall asleep. All sense of time evades me, leaving me to wonder how long I've been locked in this room. It could be hours or days or even weeks for all I know. I try to prod the avox girl but she hardly acknowledges me other than quick glances. I know she can't talk, but she could at least nod. There's always a few days before the Victor is presented to the public after the Games, but each time I wake I wonder how close I am to then.

When I next open my eyes, I immediately notice the absence of the tubes in my arm. I brush the fingers of my left hand over where only seemingly minutes ago needles pierced through my skin. The skin is flawless and smooth, like nothing had ever been there.

I bite into my lip and slowly sit up. There's no band around my waist keeping me restrained. I wait for long minutes, expecting the avox or Peacekeeper to appear at the door and fix their mistake; but no one comes.

Slowly I pull the blankets away, revealing my pale legs. I'm dressed in a papery dress so it's easy to pull it up to my thighs and examine the spot where Hubert's spear caught me. I blink, confused at the absence of a mark. I check my other leg, then around the entire circumference of my thigh, but there's no scar to be seen. Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I move my gaze up to my calf that had been shredded by the bear-type mutt. A bandage is still wrapped around it, but pulling it back, my mouth drops to see how much it's healed. Only days ago my calf was indistinguishable from ground meat, and now it looks nearly like normal skin. There's no mistaking the severity of the wound; even now I don't think I'll be able to walk without a limp. They've managed to heal me completely, but even Capitol medicine has its limits, and raised, red scars decorate my calf.

I swing my legs off the bed, bracing myself for their impact on the tile floor. I'm surprised at how steady I feel on my feet. I take a few hesitant steps, reveling at the ease and painlessness of it; there isn't even a twinge of irritation in my calf, let alone the burning agony of before.

At the end of my bed, sitting on a clear table against the wall, a pile of clothes grabs my attention. I bite into my cheek as I approach them, feeling a pit open in my gut as I do. I know what they are but even as I brush my hand over the fabric, I hope otherwise. On top of the pile is a long sleeves shirt, followed by long pants and a pair of boots beside it. I gnash my teeth together, feeling stomach acid burn in my throat. They're the clothes I wore in the arena; not the exact pair, which are ruined with blood and tears and tears, but the same nonetheless.

I take a step backwards, clutching the plastic frame of the bed so tightly that it turns my knuckles white. Clearly I'm expected to wear these if I'm to leave this room. Working my jaw, I glare around the room, looking for a camera that I'm sure is hidden somewhere. _Screw them_. I cross my arms over my torso and flex my fingers. I won their damn Games, why should I do any more for them? It's insulting. They're putting me back _there_ , back in the arena.

 _But_ , if putting on those clothes means I get out of this room, if they let me go home… Groaning, I tip my head back and glare at the ceiling. _Screw every last one of them_.

I walk back to the table and quickly pull on the new clothes. Immediately the door slides open from its hiding place in the wall, and I step out into the hallway.

No one is in sight. My footsteps echo around the white walls, making me feel uncomfortably exposed and alone. My fingers twitch anxiously as I press down the long hallway. Shouldn't someone be here? My fists routinely clench and unclench at my sides as anxiety causes my heart to ricochet in my chest. Is something wrong? I'm not out of the arena. I didn't win… Just when I think I'm going to start panicking for real, I hear a familiar voice.

Rounding the corner, I find myself in front of an alcove where Karina, Lucille, and Derek are all standing. All three of them turn to look at me simultaneously. I want to go to them but my feet remain planted at the end of the short hallway. I never thought I'd see them again; I'd accepted that I'd never see anyone again. My breath is ragged as I take a small step, then another, and another until I finally make it to my team. I'm surprised to find my arms wrapping around Derek when he pulls me into a hug. Lucille and Karina both hover around me but I pay them no attention- they don't matter to me. Derek is the only one I care about because he's the only one that truly cared about me. My fingers dig into his shirt and I find myself having to choke back tears when he whispers "good job" to me. Both Lucille and Karina try to speak to me, to hug me, pat me on the shoulder, but I shrug them off. They were ready to watch me die. They don't care about me, they're just excited that I won.

It's Derek that finally breaks our embrace. He keeps one hand on my shoulder, though, as his gaze flickers uncomfortably around the cameras. I keep my jaw set, refusing to even acknowledge their presence. I'm done with cameras for the rest of my life.

"Lucille has to take you to get ready," he says. I'm surprised at how raw his voice sounds, almost like he'd been screaming his voice away.

I glance towards my stylist who's dressed in a nearly see through black dress. She gives me a nod but I just look back at Derek. I'm surprised, and slightly embarrassed by how much I don't want to leave him. The cameras remind me that I'm still under the Capitol's thumb so I just nod. Lucille places her hand between my shoulder blades, despite my protests, and leads me to the elevator.

As we ride up towards the seventh floor, I find myself unable to look away from the numbers that indicate each time we pass a new floor. It feels so empty, so haunted. They're all dead, everyone who was here only two weeks ago- everyone except me. I swallow down the acid burning at the back of my throat and hold my head high as the doors pull apart.

My prep team is ecstatic, grinning and squealing as they pull me into the apartment. One of the women keeps her hands clamped over my shoulders and pulls me into the dining room where food is already steaming. My mouth is watering before the others have the chance to sit down as well. I scarf down all that I'm offered, ignoring Lucille's disgusted glances. Never has any food tasted as good as this. I reach for seconds, only to be stopped by Lucille.

"You can't have any more," she states, "your stomach is still fragile. Doctor's orders."

I slump back in my chair and cross my arms. The sole man on my prep team casts me a sympathetic glance but I ignore it. Lucile's face is more pinched together than normal when she stands. "Get started on her" she commands the prep team before marching towards the elevator and disappearing from the room.

The prep team seems to be under the impression that I've forgotten my way back to my room. I grit my teeth and shake off the guiding hands from the plump woman. The man goes straight to the shower, changing settings before sending me in. I'm relieved for the few minutes of solitude I get. I can't remember anymore why I was so desperate to get out of the medical room before. I quickly forget about the prep team waiting on the other side of glass. I run my fingers through my hair, nearly groaning with how good the hot water feels. I could stand here forever if they'd let me, but the plump woman who I've come to recognize as the head of the prep team, finally shuts off the water and forces me out.

She offers me one of the soft, white robes, which I take gladly. But in the few seconds that I'm standing naked in front of the wall length mirror I'm able to catch a glimpse of how skinny I am. I can't remember how long it's been since I've been able to see my ribs so clearly. And how pale I am; it's almost blinding under the artificial light. The three of them waste no time correcting these flaws.

My hair is pulled back so that an elaborate braid-type design falls down behind my head while the rest of my hair hangs free. My nails are painted a deep maroon and matching lipstick is forced onto my face. They're split between my nails and makeup mostly, chattering away as they work. The man keeps making eye contact, showing a cheek to cheek grin each time I look down at him; the taller woman sings me praise no matter how much I ignore her. It takes them a while but they seem to finally understand that I'm not in a particularly talkative mood and that it's best to leave me alone. But they can't seem to leave the Games alone, chirping about the deaths and kills like they weren't actual people who died. I clench my jaw tightly, biting my tongue to keep from saying anything.

"I don't know about the rest of you," the plump woman sighs, "but I thought the way you went after that boy the first night was really brave."

I blink once, then twice, waiting for her words to sink in. I clench my hands together, ignoring the gasp from the man. The woman smiles at me when I turn my head to look at her, but the fury in my eyes quickly wipes the smile from her face.

"What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" I spit. "What the hell's wrong with all of you?" I throw my hands in the air, further panicking the man working on my nails. "That wasn't brave, it was _murder._ I killed him. He's _dead_."

"I know that-" the woman begins but I cut her off.

"I don't think you do. He was innocent and I killed him. He never did anything wrong and now he's dead and it's my fault. Don't you ever call me brave for killing someone." The three of the exchange nervous glances, none of their hands touching me anymore. " _Just shut up_ " I growl, laying my hands back down so the polish can be fixed. They don't say a word between for the rest of the time which, while admittedly uncomfortable, brings a smug smile to my lips. Let them be afraid of me.

Lucille returns over an hour later with my outfit slung over her arms.

"Is she ready?" she barks, not even bothering to give me a second glance. The prep team nods and eagerly jump away from me so Lucille can take their place. She walks a slow circle around me, her nails drumming mindlessly against her thigh. Finally, she nods her head and pulls the black and white dress from its protective wrapping. The women gently place their hands on my arms and pull me to my feet. Though I don't say anything to them, I can see how nervous they are. The tall woman bites at her lip as she pulls the robe from my shoulders, leaving me incredibly exposed for less than a second before Lucille and the man fit me into the dress. Once again it's the tall woman who takes my hand and leads me into the nerve rackingly high heels.

The dress is white bordering on clear, with vicious black that are what I assume to be tree branches wrapping around my torso. A black band tightens around my waist, revealing just enough curve through my body that I look well-fed. Though the pattern on the bottom of the half of the dress is the same. A thin, see-through white fabric lies on top, making it so that when I move the branches seem to move with me. I notice that the dress falls past my calf, hiding the grotesque scars that reside there. I resist the urge to roll my eyes; the whole country saw what happened to my leg, surely the scars wouldn't shock them. Maybe it would serve them well to be reminded that what they saw on T.V was real. That it all actually happened and it _isn't_ some Game.

"Well?" Lucille asks, her hands held tightly in front of her.

"Fine" I murmur, ignoring the prep team's relieved sighs. My hair, though loose, frames my face wonderfully. My eyes are sharp and fierce; thanks to the makeup I presume. I look like anything but the harmless girl I was made out to be before. Now I look threatening, powerful; I look like I just killed six people.


	19. Chapter 19

"You'll never understand my sickness

'Cause I don't understand my sickness"

~My Darkest Days

I'm left alone in a dark corridor somewhere under the stage. Lucille and my prep team left almost twenty minutes ago to go get ready themselves, and after Derek stopped by for a quick "good luck," I've been alone. The crowd is loud, even from this hidden and buried spot. I listen to them at first but as my chest increasingly tightens with anxiety, I force myself to pinch my eyes shut think of other things. It's cruel, expecting me to remain calm and sane while standing in the dark on a platform that's going to raise me into view, just how the Games started two weeks ago. My stomach churns, feeling dangerously close to losing the food Lucille gave me before. She may have been right to deny me seconds.

The crowd gets louder as my arrival grows closer. I wipe my palms on my dress, thinking of how offended my prep team would be by such an action. I'm so busy trying to ignore my surroundings that when a Capitol attendant appears beside me I can't stop the yelp of panic.

The man's face contorts into an apologetic grin. He apologizes profusely. I just nod curtly, trying to hide my embarrassment at reacting so violently to something so small. He asks if I need anything, and when I shake my head no, he informs me that I'll be going on momentarily, and that I shouldn't leave the platform. _At least this time I'm not sealed in a glass tube_ , I think.

As soon as the man turns to leave I hear the anthem boom overhead. A clammy sweat breaks out on the back of my neck and I find myself wishing my dress wasn't so long or thick. The crowd screams as my prep team is presented, their cheer even louder when Karina trapezes across the stage. I swear I can hear her heels from here. Lucille is next, once again topping the cheer before her. Derek's announcement is the loudest, as I expect, although he's never been a favorite Victor; mostly he lays low, away from the Capitol's all seeing eye.

I bite the inside of my cheek as the platform beneath me begins to rise. The audience is deafening, only growing louder as the metal doors above me open and I rise into their midst. I have to squint against the blinding lights. I blink rapidly, refusing to move until I can see what's around me.

Caesar stands to my right, his arm held out towards me as the crowd shrieks. Derek is on my left, Karina beside him and Lucille and prep team beside her. They're all looking at me, beaming with excitement, except Derek, whose smile is weak and sad. There's a comforting air to him though. He's the only one who really knows what I'm feeling. I meet his eyes and give him an unsteady smile of my own before turning to acknowledge Caesar.

Two ornately decorated red seats are in the center of the stage. I allow Caesar to rest his hand on my back as he leads me to my seat; it's not worth the fight. I feel so exposed, sitting on the wide chair with thousands of people watching me. My dress feels like hardly more than a towel now; I could be naked, as unprotected as I feel.

Caesar makes a final joke, sending the crowd into yet another uproar before he swivels to face the multitude of screens around the massive room. I don't want to do this. It's only now hitting me now that I'm going to watch everyone die. I dig my fingernails into the edge of the chair, hoping I ruin the pristine nail polish. My heart hammers in my chest and I find my leg bouncing with the nervous energy coursing through me. I look up at the screen when the Capitol's emblem fades away and the cornucopia appears.

The footage makes me incredibly nauseous, even more so than I was beneath the stage. I try to keep my face emotionless as best I can but I know I'm failing. I look down at my hands when they show me bashing Kiyo's head in that first night. I'm able to tune out the sounds of the screams for most of the deaths, but ignoring what's before my eyes is much harder. I can feel my face contort into a grimace when the mutt rips my leg open. I cross my legs, resisting the urge to run my fingers over the thin bandage. Although little time is spent on kills that aren't mine, I find them burning against the back of my eyelids each time I blink. When they finally show Maisie, I have to close my eyes. It lasts only a few seconds but even the quiet sounds of her death threaten to bring tears to my eyes. As soon as the scene shifts into a different kill, I look back at the screen. They _will not_ see me cry.

It feels like days before the screen fades to black and the emblem reappears. Caesar urges everyone to rise to their feet as President Snow is announced. I urge myself not to make a fool of myself, but I can't rid myself of the sinking feeling that, on the screen, I looked like a monster.

My muscles tense as the President approaches me, a young girl at his side. I grit my teeth together ferociously, refusing to meet his eye as he places the golden crown on my head. He lingers in front of me, an overwhelming smell of blood wafting up to my nose. My already fragile stomach lurches at the smell but thankfully I'm able to keep my composure. He pauses, waiting. I can't help but glance up at him, and my heart sinks into my feet. His eyes are black, angry pinpoints. _Just like the mutt_.

Music blares overhead and the audience is quickly whipped into a frenzy. Everyone screams for me and my team who, with the largest smiles I've ever seen, wave ecstatically. Even Derek acknowledges those who call out his name. Caesar looks over at me, jerking his head towards the audience. I ball my hands into fists, feeling the nails cut into my palm. I wince, remembering the painful cuts that only days ago ran across my palm and fingers, now replaced by smooth skin. I will not wave to these people. They will _never_ have my love. I look out into the audience, feeling the rage take over.

I'm surprised at the speed and efficiency at which I'm whisked off stage and escorted to a sleek black car. Derek sits beside me, sighing loudly and often.

"Are you alright?" he asks as soon as we leave the building behind us. I shrug, leaning my shoulder against the window and watching the lights blur past. A headache is forming at the base of my skull, sending prickles of pain up to my eyes. I don't want to go to any Victory Banquet, but my protest only leads to Karina scolding me, and reminding me that my attendance is the only reason the banquet is held at all. _Then cancel it_ , I want to say. _I don't want it anyway_.

The whole world feels like it's spinning and, when I close my eyes, I swear I'm going to puke. It feels like there's hundreds of voices, all whispering in my ears at once, each vying for my attention.

I hesitate in the car when we come to a stop in front of the President's mansion. Already people are crammed inside and spilling around the immense yard. They'll all want to see me. Still feeling unnervingly sick, I step out of the care, stumbling a step when my vision goes black.

Derek barely catches me by the arm and cautiously holds on as I lean against the side of the car until the vertigo ceases. Both he and Karina watch me nervously but I wave away their concerns. Karina, seemingly taking her job as escort serious for once, leads me through the iron gates and up the stone steps until we enter through massive wooden doors. People don't hesitate to swarm around me, taking pictures with or without my consent, dying to get a word from me about anything at all. It's all very overwhelming; I feel like I'm drowning in people. When a servant of some sort manages to push through the crowd and asks me to follow him, I don't hesitate.

The man leads me down a long hallway, taking two turns before the sound even begins to die down. My heart is racing, only beginning to slow when we stop outside an elaborately carved door. The man raps twice before opening the door.

"Mr. President, Ms. Mason is here to see you," he announces, stepping back to give me room to pass.

I look past the servant to see the President sitting behind a desk, his hands folded in front of him. Immediately dread overcomes me. I insulted him at the recap, didn't I? The menacing look on his face tells me I'm not here for praise. I don't realize I've entered the room until the door clicks closed behind me. There's an increasing sense of being locked in a cage with a hungry animal. President Snow gestures to the chair across the desk.

"Please, have a seat" he says, pursing his lips like I'm his next meal. I glance down at the chair, examining at it like it might bite me. Snow makes a noise in his throat, clearly repeating his earlier command. My legs tremble as I approach the chair, relived at least to sit so I don't pass out. I look up at him cautiously, resisting the urge to wrinkle my nose against the overpowering scent of the roses. "Let me begin by saying congratulations on your spectacular victory, Ms. Mason. That was quite a victory" Something about how he stretches out the worse reminds me of a snake.

I will my voice to come out steady but I can hear the tremble behind it. "Thank you, sir." Anyone else and I wouldn't be so polite. Anyone else and I would have torn into the for the insult. It was not victory. It was a grave and serious failure that allowed me to live.

"Now, I'm sure you're wondering why I've asked you here," he shifts so that he's leaning forward on his elbows. "I'd like to begin by telling you that I have no intention of lying to you. In fact, I think you'll come to find me extraordinarily honest."

He pauses, dark eyes watching me like I'm supposed to say something. I dip my head politely but keep my lips pressed together.

"Am I right in assuming that you are eager to repay the Capitol for the immense generosity we've shown you?" he asks.

My stomach writhes. Generosity? I want to respond; I want to say everything I shouldn't. IT wasn't generosity. I didn't want any of this. I was forced here, at gunpoint if necessary. But if I open my mouth I know I'll say something I'll regret. My mother always told me I was never good at holding my tongue. So, instead, I nod my head, terror biting at my throat.

"I'm glad to hear it." The smile he offers is filled with venom. "I know it seems that now that you're a Victor, you get to live the easy life. However, there are certain duties that I ask of you. I do hope you chose to comply, but I won't force you into anything."

He lets out a long breath, his pudgy fingers reaching up to stroke a loose petal of a white rose in the vase beside him; he gazes at it thoughtfully, almost as if he'd entered into a daydream. As suddenly as he disappeared, he snaps back to attention, his pupils constricting as he focuses on me.

"Victors are very special to the civilians here in the Capitol. Some individuals are even willing to… donate money to spend time with you. Do you understand my meaning?"

I furrow my eyebrows, wanting to shrivel up and disappear under his ominous gaze. My tongue is so dry, sticking to the roof of my mouth as I try to swallow. I shake my head, trying to suck in a breath that doesn't seem to want to reach my lungs.

He sighs, almost like he's disappointed. "They would like special time with the Victors; _intimate_ time." He refolds his hands on the top of the desk, leering at me to see if I understand.

I feel my face turn hot. To keep my hands from trembling I hold them tightly. "You mean sex?" I spit out the word like it's acid.

"I prefer to think of it more as a way to show how grateful you are to the people of the Capitol. Consider it a term of our agreement."

Rage builds inside me, starting as a simmer and growing into a boil. I'm on my feet before I realize what I'm doing. "What agreement? What do I have to be grateful for? You tried to _kill me_!"

A smile pulls at the corners of his lips. He doesn't seem the least bit concerned about me, only serving to fuel my rage even more. How easy it would be to grab that vase and smash it over his head. I could slit his throat with a shard of glass. But, of course, I would be executed immediately. Then none of this would matter.

"Ms. Mason" President Snow sighs like I'm an unruly toddler, "do you love your family? Don't you want them with you? Happy and _alive_?"

My hands, which have been balled into fists for the length of the conversation slowly release, my fingers brushing the fabric of my dress. I recognize the threat in his words. If I don't do what he says, my family will be killed. I sink back into the chair, white spots decorating my vision. My family will live only as long as I do what he says. Desperately I search for words, something to refute him, to fight my out of this, but I can't think of a single thing. He won and he knows it.

"Don't touch them" I growl. "Don't you lay a single finger on them."

"I hope I never have to. I'm glad you understand me. You agree to these terms then?"

it's not a choice, not really. If I refuse, my whole family dies. I feel stuck. I don't know how I can possibly agree to his terms. But I won the Games for my family, I can't let them die now. I've suffered enough and I can suffer more if I have to. If it keeps them safe, I'll do whatever I have to do.

"Please answer me, Ms. Mason."

I snap my eyes up to meet his, feeling the fury burning inside. "Yes. I agree."

"I'm glad." He waves his hand towards the door "you may leave."

This time when my stomach churns, I know that I only have limited time to get somewhere to puke. I dash out of the room, hand covering my mouth as I dash around the corner to where a glass door into the gardens waits. I just make it outside before I retch into a flower bed. What the hell just happened to me?


	20. Chapter 20

"I laid down,

I drank the poison then I passed the fuck out

Now let me tell you 'bout the good life

I have a million different kinds of fun"

~Perce The Veil

I'm hunched over with my hands on my knees, spitting out the taste of vomit and trying to collect my thoughts. My arms are trembling but I can't muster the energy to stand up straight. A strangled sob escapes from my throat but my face is dry. A million thoughts race through my mind; President Snow, my family, what he wants me to do, what could happen to them if I refuse… It's all too much. Victors are supposed to be free once they've won. This was never supposed to happen. I brush my fingers through my hair, keeping my face still as they catch on knots from the tight braid. Shakily I stand up straight, finally looking out at the garden before me.

Rows of flowers are laid out across a maze of stone. Shades of reds, yellows, pinks and more. Marble birdbaths stand at increments along the walkways. It's beautiful by anyone's standards- and I just puked in it. It should be serene, peaceful, but right now all I want is for it to burn down before me.

My muscles tighten when I hear the soft click of the door opening. I keep my face held forward, refusing to acknowledge the sound and silently praying it isn't President Snow, or a Peacekeeper come to bring me back to the party. I'm cloaked in shadows, but I'm not hidden.

Footsteps press softly against the grass, calm and slow as they come towards me. My arms are crossed over my stomach, which is still threatening to lose the rest of its contents. A form emerges beside me but I don't look at it. I grind my teeth together, willing myself to seem sullen and hostile in the hopes that whoever it is goes away. _Not Snow. Not Snow. Not Snow_.

It's a man, that much I can tell. They're at least a good foot taller than me, and I can hear the tinkling of ice against glass. It's isn't Snow. Too thin. Too tall. I let out a small breath of relief, but I remain tense and on edge. Whoever it is doesn't say anything for a long while, just stands beside me, swirling their glass and occasionally looking over at me.

"You look like you need this more than me" a deep voice finally says. I peel my eyes away from the rows of flowers and look at the glass of warm caramel liquid being offered to me. I consider taking it for a moment but I decide against it and look back at the horizon, keeping firmly silent. _Go away. Just please go away_. Besides, I've never had alcohol before.

"No? Suit yourself" he murmurs, taking a long drink from the glass. "Congratulations on the win, by the way."

"Go to hell" I growl, tucking my arms even tighter against myself. I know it must look childish but I can't bring myself to care. Being silent doesn't work for me. I can ignore just about anything if I want to, but this, my _win_ , is something all its own. I can barely keep from thinking about it. I can't get rid of the horror. It's like I'm walking in a nightmare and I can't wake up.

The man gives a soft chuckle before sighing and looking over at me. "I'm already there," he laughs "and I suspect you are too."

I snap my head towards him, ready for an angry retort when I suddenly recognize the golden hair and firm jawline. The man's eyes sparkle as he meets my eyes, laughter playing across his face. "Finnick Odair" he declares, offering his free hand to me.

I stare at it, knowing I won't take it. I drop my hands to my sides, looking back up at his too happy face. "I know who you are" I grumble, a frown tugging at my lips.

"And _I_ know who _you_ are, Johanna Mason" Finnick states. "You threw the Capitol for quite a loop, you know, with that whole defenseless act."

I bite my lower lip, looking back towards the flowers, Lipstick smears against my tongue, making me grimace with the taste. "They can go fuck themselves" I respond. The headache from before returns, ponding behind my eyes with renewed force. I press my hand into my forehead, relishing in the coolness of it against my clammy skin. "How did you know it was an act?" I ask finally, turning to face Finnick directly. "Maybe I just got lucky." The more I think about it, the more it seems that way.

He shrugs, cocking his head like he's preparing an answer. "It was in your eyes," he finally says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

This time it's him that looks away, though he can't seem to keep his attention from wandering back to my face every few seconds. I'm not sure what he means but I'm not going to ask him to elaborate. The head is pounding wildly, like my skull might crack with the pressure.

"You sure you don't want this?" he holds the glass out to me again. "I'm not trying to get you drunk but… you know… it helps a little."

I sigh and tip my head back towards the sky. A small, summer breeze causes my hair to flutter, but it does nothing to make the sweat, or the headache disappear. I shrug, mimicking his facial expression and take the glass from his hand. It's incredibly bitter as it hits my tongue, causing me to wince at the taste. But as soon as I swallow I feel the burn of alcohol in the back of my throat and the rest of the acid in my stomach settles down.

"Thanks" I murmur, handing the empty glass back to Finnick.

He lets out an airy laugh, taking a step away to set it down on a metal table. He shoves his hands in his pockets and turns back to face me. "So you've spoken to the President I presume?" He must take my sneer and lack of response as an answer because he lets out a long sigh and shakes his head. "Don't worry, it could be worse. We could be dead." I expect to find humor on his face but he's completely serious. So it isn't just me, at least. I look at Finnick, suddenly thinking about him more than the charismatic, good-looking Victor I see on T.V. If he's been doing this since he won his Games… maybe he's not the cocky bastard I thought he was.

I open my mouth to respond but movement behind him catches my attention. A group of four Capitol citizens are passing the window that leads to the glass door. All of them look up and notice Finnick and I standing outside, though I can't tell if they recognize us. A knot forms in my throat. I don't think I can face anyone else tonight, let alone adoring fans who'll inevitably praise me for the murders I committed. Once again I cross my arms, digging my fingernails into the bare skin of my arms.

Finnick glances over his shoulder, a similar expression of irritation flickering over his face. He groans audibly and pushes away from the table back towards me. The people are just pushing their way through the door when he plants himself in front of me. He grabs my elbow and immediately I go to rip it from his grasp. He rolls his eyes and leans down towards me.

"If you want them to leave you alone, then trust me," he says just loud enough for me to hear.

The people have started wandering towards us, their laughs and shrieks proving their drunkenness. I only just open my mouth when he plants his hands on my waist and pulls me into a kiss. I gasp in shock, pushing my hands against his chest but he doesn't let go. The sound of one of the men whistling catches my attention and I realize that they're passing us with little more than a glance and disappearing into the bushes. Finnick lingers for a few seconds after they disappear, his lips pressing against mine, parting them slightly with his tongue.

Finally, he steps back, a broad grin shining in the dark. I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth, glaring up at the annoyingly good-looking man. "What was that about?" I demand.

He shrugs, still smiling stupidly. "It makes people uncomfortable" I open my mouth to argue but he waves my argument away. "It worked didn't it?"

I roll my eyes, surprised to find my irritation washing away as quickly as it came. "Seems a little excessive" I mutter. The sound of laughter is fading, once again leaving us alone in the dark rose garden.

"You should count yourself lucky. I'm a _phenomenal_ kisser" he boasts.

I shake my head, unable to hide the smile pulling at my lips. I know I should be more upset, but he's so nonchalant, so non-committal that it's hard to be angry. Besides, it wasn't a _bad_ kiss, not that I have much experience. The last and only person I've ever kissed was Vinny, weeks ago before I was shipped off to the Capitol. For some reason thinking of that moment sends a pang of guilt through me. Vinny and I are by no means in a relationship; we've kissed before, sure; we've even had sex a handful of times, but we've never been together, not really.

"Johanna?" someone calls from the doorway, catching my attention with groan dread. "There you are! I've been looking for you for ages!" Karina prances across the short distance, her dress dancing around her legs. "If you're re-" she stops mid-sentence when she catches sight of Finnick. He offers her one of his grins that he seemingly always has on hand. Even beneath her layer of makeup I can see her blush. I roll my eyes, earning a glare from Karina and smirk from Finnick respectively. _Damn swooning women…_

"Hello Finnick" she greets him before turning to me. "I'm glad to see you're getting acquainted with other Victors, Johanna, but Derek is insisting we head back to the Training Center."

Karina looks surprised to see me nod with enthusiasm. I can't wait to get back, as long as it means I'm not here. I follow her to the door, pausing before going inside when I look back over my shoulder at Finnick. His hands are back in his pockets and his shoulders seem slouched forward; but a sparkle still dances in his eyes when he smiles at me.

"It was nice meeting you Johanna" he says. "Don't worry. It all works out."

I swallow heavily and nod at him, daring a small smile before dashing after Karina. She gives me a dirty look, scolding me on my atrocious manners as we head back towards the main room. Normally I'd have a retort for her, but I'm so eager to get away from this damned mansion that I let her comments slide all in the name of escape.

The sun is just peaking over the horizon when we get back and I stumble into bed. I spend a long time standing in the shower, fighting and losing the battle to the tears burning in my eyes all night. By the time I'm dried off and changed into different clothes, I can barely keep my eyes open. Despite my exhaustion, once I've curled up under the blankets, President Snow pops into my head. I can't let him kill my family. If I have to have sex with a few Capitol men to appease him, then so be it. It's nothing compared to the pain of knowing that I got my family killed.


	21. Chapter 21

"You know it comes that way

At least that's what they say

When you play the game"

~Everlast

I wake up to a knocking at my door. I pick my head up from the pillow, waiting to see if the sound was a dream or not. When it comes again I roll onto my back and kick off the blankets. I expect Karina, or my prep team, but instead it's Derek. He doesn't even have to ask to come in before I step to the side and close the door behind him.

He sighs, rubbing his hand down over his face. "How are you?" he asks, tucking his hands under his armpits. The way he looks at me, concern and sadness in his eyes I know he's asking about last night. I bite the inside of my lip, surprised at the lash of anger I feel towards him. When we got back last night, he couldn't have left fast enough. If he knew, if _he knew_ , he should have done something.

"You knew?" I ask, rage heating my cheeks. He nods, refusing to look me in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me? Did you not think I deserved to know?"

He raises his head slowly, looking like a dog who's just been scolded. "When would I have told you?"

I open my mouth, my hand waving in the air for a few second before I'm able to make a sound. "I don't know! Maybe before the party? When I woke up and spent hours getting my makeup done? Or maybe before the Games started? It would've saved me a lot of trouble."

A sudden fire sparks in his eyes and he drops his hands back to his sides. "Would you have believed me?" he spits. "How could I have told you without expecting you to freak out on stage? Without getting yourself killed?"

I gnash my teeth together and glare at him. "I deserved to know."

"We all did!" he yells.

The outburst surprises me. I cross my arms and purse my lips together. What am I supposed to say to him? We both know we aren't mad at each other. It's Snow, it's the Capitol, it's the damn Hunger Games we're mad at. Still, he should have told me. He should've known. Does he not remember what it was like, getting threatened? The thought makes me pause and look up at Derek. _Did_ he get threatened? Finnick all but told me he does the same, but I never thought about Derek.

"You have to do it?" I ask. It never occurred to me he was given the same ultimatum. His body or his family.

"I haven't had to in years. I'm not popular, or particularly attractive anymore. I'm not one of the desirable ones" his shoulders slump forward and his eyes snap out of focus for a second. "I-I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Of course I'm not" I say " _thanks for asking_."

He nods, hardly daring to look up from his feet. "I really _am_ happy you lived" he says.

"So am I" I snort, rolling my eyes. Derek looks up at me, a sad smile on his face like he doesn't quite believe me.

"There's food" he says, jerking his head towards the door. "You might want to eat before your prep team gets here."

I nod, following him out to the dining room where I'm able to get in a few bites of eggs before the elevator chimes and my prep team arrives. They seem less wary of me than yesterday, but they never once mention the Games as they chatter amongst themselves. When Lucille arrives, she stands quietly, her ever watchful eyes following the movements of the prep team. She's put me in a silver dress that shimmers slightly when I move, accompanied by silver heels that grip my ankles too tightly.

I find my heart hammering as I walk down the hallway. Caesar stands chatting idly with the two cameramen, Derek standing behind them with his arms crossed, dressed in a nice suit. Everyone turs to look at me when I enter the room, Caesar goes as far to give me a warm hug, like we've been friends for years. I'm relieved at least that there's no audience watching me. It should be calmer, at least. But I know Snow will be watching. I swear I can feel his eyes glaring through the cameras, warning me, reminding me.

"Congratulations, Johanna" Caesar beams, the cameramen echoing their congratulations behind him. "You ready to get started?"

I nod curtly, following Caesar's lead and sitting on the white seat opposite him. I feel uncomfortable as Karina and Lucille whisper eagerly in the corner, leaving Derek to smile at me sympathetically. I return his small smile, but return to stone faced expression when someone begins a countdown and we're suddenly being broadcasted to the entire nation.

Caesar seems more comfortable in front of the camera than away from it, reacting perfectly to anything I say, making jokes and serious comments alike when the opportunity presents itself. I press my lips together, trying to give the shortest answers to his questions as I can. As soon as I get this over with the better.

"Well, Johanna," Caesar sighs "I'm confident in saying that you shocked all of us with your skill and determination after the impression you made before the Games. Was that really all an act, or was your fear real?"

My tongue moves erratically, trying to form the right words. "It was an act" I say confidently, "I needed to other tributes to leave me alone, to forget about me. It wasn't hard to fool the rest of you. You're not that bright."

Caesar clicks his tongue, ignoring the jab at him and the rest of the Capitol. "Well no one is going to forget you now. You had record low sponsors, some of the lowest odds we've seen in years, but look at you! Here you are with only a couple scratches. I can see your leg's still healing, is it not?"

My eyes flicker down to my calf. Lucille insisted on keeping the bandage, although some doctor said I could remove it. Apparently angry looking scars aren't fashionable enough for her. I can tell one of the cameras is panning down towards the gauze, making me shift so that their view is obstructed. My scars are not for their enjoyment.

"Yeah," I murmur, rolling the fabric of the dress between my fingers. "It was bad."

Caesar nods, jumping into another round of questions about how I felt at different instances, and what was going through my mind once Hubert had died. I answer quickly, becoming increasingly frustrated as more and more questions are thrust at me.

"I just have one more question for you, Johanna" Caesar says, clearing his throat. I make a sound that clearly expresses my irritation but Caesar pretends not to hear it. "I asked you before how you felt being here in the Capitol so I'm posing the same question again. How, after everything, does it feel being here?"

My stare seems to make him excited. Maybe for once I'll give him a decent answer. But there's a thousand words running through my head, not a single one remotely pleasant. I let out a loud breath through my nose, gritting my teeth.

"You're an asshole" I say abruptly.

Caesar visibly balks. Clearly that's not what he was expecting. He makes an uncomfortable comment, chalking it up to a _misunderstanding and exhaustion_. I just sneer, letting him wrap up the interview.

I let out a long breath when Caesar rises, shaking my hand before leaving with the cameramen. Derek gives me an encouraging nod but it doesn't stop my hands from trembling.

Karina tells me to go collect my stuff from my room, but I blink at her with annoyance. I didn't bring anything with me, what could I have to bring home? She shakes her head at me but nonetheless ushers me and Derek into the elevator, down to where a black car is waiting to bring us to the train station.

It doesn't hit me that I'm going home until I feel the small jerk of the train pulling away from the station. I sink into a chair but my leg bounces relentlessly. My eyes follow the trees as they whiz past us, eagerly searching for the moment when they turn into massive pines. It'll be hours, I know, but I can't pull my attention away from the window.

It feels like years since I've been back in District 7, but I can still remember the smell of the trees on logging days, the way the whole world went silent when it rained. I can see Lily wading through the tiny streams with her bare feet, laughing when I wipe the mud from between her toes. I can remember everything like I had just left. The thought is so sweet on my tongue. _Home_. I'm going home. My chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. For the first time I'm able to breathe without wondering how many more breaths I have left.

I wait a few hours before I finally get annoyed with the constriction of the dress. I would never wear this on my own; no one would recognize me in this. I excuse myself, Derek's eyes tracking me nonetheless and I disappear out of the car. A smile plays on my lips as I walk through the halls. My room is exactly where I remember. I find a pair of pants and a shirt that look similar, albeit nicer, to the clothes I normally wear at home. I stop in the bathroom to wash the makeup from my face and run my fingers through my hair.

I emerge from my room for dinner, making idle small talk with Derek while we eat. He drums his fingers on the table throughout the meal, eager to get home I assume. I excuse myself when the sun sets and return to my room. It takes hours for me to even begin to feel tired, hours longer for me to finally fall asleep. As soon as I open my eyes, I jump out of bed. I'm going home. In less than an hour, I'll be with my family again and this will all have been worth it.


	22. Chapter 22

"I've opened up these scars

I'll make you face this"

~Linkin Park

My knuckles are white with the force I'm using to hold onto the rail. Derek stands beside me, his presence as comforting as it is nerve-racking. Its Capitol ordered that we stand out on the balcony- to get a shot of the Victor returning home, I guess. I know we're close. The trees here are part of the lumber fields; I can see the heavily tread pathways weaving around pines at different stages of growth. I lean forward, trying to see if I can spot the train station ahead. Derek pulls me back by me elbow, not that I could see anything anyway; we're too far back on the train to see anything up ahead.

My heart leaps into my throat when the train begins to slow and suddenly people stream into view. There's screams and cheers from the people in front of me, everyone desperate to see me. I can't stop the smile from forming; these are my people, they actually care about me, care that I lived. The train comes to a halt and I lean forward again, eyes desperately searching the crowd. _Where are they_? To my left I hear my name called in a familiar voice. I lean farther forward, feeling the rail press into my stomach as I do so. _There_. My father stands, smiling wider than I've ever seen. Lily is sitting on his shoulders, waving her hands wildly with tears streaming down her face. Cam stands quietly like ever, though I can see the joy in his face. I want to jump off the train, climb over the rail and run to them, but Derek presses his hand into my back, catching my attention.

"Give them their picture" he tells me. He has his hand on my back, making an uncomfortable face at a camera across from us. I force myself to stand still for a few seconds so the Capitol can have their pictures but as soon as I can I push away from the rail and disappear into the car.

I move as fast as my legs can carry me, jumping down the steps so that my knees tremble with the impact. The crowd surges around me but I ignore all of them. I shove people out of my way, feeling increasingly frantic the closer I get.

It's Lily who reaches me first, her small body colliding with me like a train. I wrap my arms around her, dropping to my knees as I squeeze her against me. Cam is only steps behind her and I welcome him into the hug. For once I don't care about the tears streaming from my eyes. My face is buried between Lily and Cam, breathing in their so familiar scent. I missed them so much.

"Johanna," my father's voice says overhead. Keeping my arms firmly around my brother and sister, I look up at him. He looks like he's aged a hundred years since I've left. His dark brown hair has strands of gray, wrinkles are creased around his eyes and mouth. Still, his threatening face brings even more joy. I stand, letting go of Cam and Lily and throw myself into his arms. His beard scratches against my face, but I don't have to urge to complain about it like I normally would. I tighten my arms around his neck, crying against his shirt as he holds me tighter than he ever has. I know there's cameras capturing our reunion and some small part of my mind starts laughing about how strange this should be. I just killed. Twenty-three people are dead. And I'm sobbing into my father's arms, him holding me up like I'm a child.

"We missed you so much" he says, pushing me away. Cam and Lily are at my sides, both grinning from ear to ear.

"I missed you too" I murmur between sobs, pulling Lily into another long hug.

People began moving off almost as soon as I got off the train. I blink away the tears, noticing the Peacekeepers standing to the side for the first time. They're facing me, and, for a moment, terror runs through my limbs. That's when I notice Derek beside them, a woman at his side, her hand lovingly holding onto his arm. I rise shakily to my feet, holding tightly to Lily's hand as I turn to acknowledge them. The Peacekeeper in the middle steps forward, getting the attention of the rest of my family.

"Ms. Mason, if you would follow me, we'll show you and your family to your new home" he says.

The breath rushes from my lungs with a sigh of relief. I'd completely forgotten about our new premises. Of course we'll still have our old cabin, the new house technically only belongs to me. I nod at him, preparing to follow the group of soldiers when I notice someone standing off to the side, watching me.

 _Vinny_. My heart drops into my stomach when I see him. I'd been so focused on my family that I completely forgot about him. His mother is at his side, looking as weak and frail as ever. I drop Lily's hand murmuring a "hold on" to them before I walk away.

I take long strides towards him, smiling at the stupid grin on his face as we crash into a hug. He feels so strong and steady compared to me. I'm such a mess, crying and shaking, but he's still my rock that he's always been.

"I knew you'd make it" he whispers, his hand bunching in the back of my shirt.

I answer with a happy sob, stepping back from his to give him mom and sisters an acknowledging smile. "I have to go" I say, nodding back where my family stands watching. "I'll come by soon, okay?"

Vinny nods, still watching me as I jog back towards everyone else. Lily takes my hand, gripping it tightly as we begin walking away from the station. Pure happiness swells in my chest as we walk. I'm home. I'm with my family and we're going to our new home where we'll never again freeze or starve or fear what the future will bring.

"Wait" I say, stopping in my tracks. "What about grandma?" I ask, looking mostly at my father.

He stays expressionless, but I feel Lily's hand go slack in mine, and Cam looks down at his feet. My father sighs, glancing at the Peacekeepers who seem annoyed by the delay.

"She died" he says, "about a week after you left. It was just too much for her."

The words slam into me, making me sway where I stand. She's _dead_? How can that be? She's always been sick, but she wasn't any worse than she'd been before. I swallow heavily, glancing towards Derek who has walked with us the whole way. His lips are pressed together but he doesn't say anything. I nod, blinking away the newfound tears. There'll be time to mourn for her later. I nod at the Peacekeepers who continue leading us towards the ever approaching Victor's Village. I should have expected it. She was old and sick, that much of a shock was a lot for her to take on. I hope she went quickly. I hope everyone was there for her.

We walk into Victor's Village in silent awe. We'd all seen the village from a distance our whole lives, but up close it's so much more luxurious. The Peacekeepers stop in front of the second house on the left, pressing keys into my hand before muttering a halfhearted congratulations and marching back towards the city center.

Derek lingers awkwardly in the center of the pathway, his hands plunged deep in his pockets. I hand the key to Cam, who excitedly bounds up the steps with Lily behind him.

I turn towards my mentor, surprised at the sadness I feel knowing I won't be with him as often. The woman, who I think is his wife, is waiting in the doorway of their home across the dusty path, watching with kind eyes.

"Thank you" I say to him, not resisting when he hugs me. It's brief, but there's a lot of emotion in our small embrace. He's the reason I'm alive. Without Derek, I don't know what I would have done. There's things that have been shared between us that no one else will ever understand. He alone knows what it's like, and for that, I'm grateful.

"Anytime, kid," he says, before him and my father exchange a quick nod and he disappears behind his door.

I swallow down the last of my tears and turn towards my father. He smiles at me, squeezing my shoulder with his calloused hands before following me into the immense home. I can't help but wonder what he thinks of Derek. The stranger I spent that last few weeks with- the one who saved my life when so many others died before me.

Lily and Cam have the whole place scouted within minutes. They laugh and scream as they explore the new place, at least five times the size of our tiny cabin. Both of them immediately want to go back and get their stuff from the old place and although I know my father's tired, he agrees to walk back and help them. I go with them, eager to see our home once again and see the place where so much of my family died. Because, when it comes down to it, it's home. I've never understood what that meant until now.

We spend hours "moving in." Mostly it involves eating a meager meal compared to those in the Capitol, and sitting on the new couches just beings happy that we're all here. I can barely keep my eyes dry for more than a few minutes at a time, though I don't let them fall down my face.

Cam is the first to fall asleep, curled up on the edge of the couch. My father rouses him, and silently, we all take the cue that being as late as it is, we should go to bed. After placing Cam in the room he claimed for himself, my father tucks me into bed like a child, Lily beside me. She refuses to leave my side even for the night and I wouldn't have it any other way.

As my father ducks out of the room, moonlight catches his face and I swear, for a moment, that there's tears in his eyes. "I love you, dad" I whisper. He pauses just long enough to smile at me and then disappears, his face contorted into joy and deep sorrow.


	23. Chapter 23

"Open up your eyes

Save yourself from fading away now, don't let it go

Open up your eyes

See what you've become, don't sacrifice

It's truly the heart of everything"

~Within Temptation

We spend the next two days enjoying every minute we can with each other. Even in our cabin we never spent so much time together. Lily nearly always has herself planted beside me. Cam doesn't stop talking; even when he runs out of new things to tell me, he reminisces old memories until he's red in the face. My father doesn't say much, which isn't new. But the ever present smile on his face tells me he's happy.

I mourn my grandmother in silence. It's hard to admit, but I hardly feel her loss. There's so much racing through my head during every waking moment- the fear, the horror, the grief, that I can hardly stop to breathe. My family has had their chance to mourn, and they're filled with a new energy that comes with having me survive and our newfound wealth. But I'm stuck in grief. For my grandmother, for everyone who's now dead that only a few weeks ago, was completely innocent.

More out of instinct than anything I find myself going to start various chores. It always makes me stop dead to realize that I don't have to. There isn't water to heat or food to buy or firewood to cut, though I find myself routinely going back to the old axe sitting propped against the outside of the house. Each time I pick it up a strange churning begins in my stomach.

 _That was quite a victory_. Snow's words seem to haunt me, always teasing me in the back of my brain. The comment makes me snort. What a victory _indeed_ I think, throwing the axe back down.

I wait until my third day home to leave the house. It's a Tuesday which, unless something changed, is Vinny's day off. I wait and eat breakfast with everyone before telling them I'll be back later. Lily looks terrified to see me pulling on my old boots.

"Don't worry" I say, pulling her fingers out of mine "I'm coming back."

Cam distracts her with some game he found in a cupboard somewhere. It was never weird before, me leaving for hours at a time, usually spent somewhere with Vinny. Of course, we were generally doing something for money or food for our families. My stomach tickles with butterflies as I walk down the shaded paths back towards where most homes are situated at the edge of the lumber yards. He lives only a street down from where the old house sits, yet I find myself chewing on my lip as I retrace the route in my mind.

What do I say to him? Vinny, my best friend, really the only true friend I've ever had. The last time I saw him, he kissed me. While we've always been friends, I fought childhood feeling towards him for a long time, settling on the fact that we wouldn't ever be anything more than friends, which since then I've come to accept and value. But he changed the whole game. We've kissed before. We've had sex. But none of that ever meant that much, as much as I wanted it to. Are things going to be awkward between us? I need him in my life, I need to have the one source of steady determination that I always can rely on.

As I near his home, I plunge my hands into the pockets of my pants. The kiss replays in my head over and over the closer I get. I thought I had gotten over my childish infatuation, but I can't deny the tingle in my chest whenever I think about it.

Then, after a half hour of walking, I find myself standing in front of his door. I hesitate before knocking, finding myself holding my breath as I rap on the door. I slowly let out my breath, clenching and unclenching my hand as I wait. But no one comes. The rest of his family works today, or is at school, but he's usually at home. I bite my cheek as I cross behind the house, heading towards the small shack I'm all too familiar with; we used to hide in there and talk for hours after our parents died. We'd talk about leaving District 7, getting to the Capitol and getting rid of President Snow. It was treasonous to talk so boldly, but the shed offered us some sense of safety.

I don't even make it all the way around the house when I catch sight of Vinny, pouring grain onto the soft grass, chickens clucking excitedly around his ankles. I approach quietly, watching as he grabs handfuls of seed and scatters it around. It takes him a while to notice me, but as soon as he does he breaks out into one of his stupid grins that makes it impossible for me to keep from smiling back.

He frees himself from the chickens and sets down the sack of seed, looking older and more mature than he had when I left. The top of my head is level with his mouth, forcing me to have to tip my head back to look at him. His hair is a mess, a stray curl of dark brown hair sticking off the side of his head. He looks so much like himself, and yet so different. There's a thin layer of scruff covering his chin, making him look years older than seventeen. Even the way he carries himself is more confident, more sure of himself.

"I was wondering if I was going to see you soon," he says, stopping in front of me.

"I've been busy" I say, though it isn't exactly true.

He nods, "I get that. I wouldn't let go of Scarlet for days if I were in your position."

Scarlet is his ten-year-old sister, the youngest of him and his two siblings. The other is dear to him too, so he was never as close to her as he is with Scarlet. I offer him a smile, chewing on the bottom of my lip.

"My dad said you helped them out a lot when my grandmother died," I look into his sparkling hazel eyes. " _Thank you_ " I say as earnestly as I can. I've never left before. I've never had t rely on someone else to take care of them. Sure, he's helped me when I couldn't provide enough, just as I've done the same with him, but this was different.

He rolls his eyes in a sarcastic way. "You don't have to thank me."

"I do" I insist. "I couldn't live without them. You helping them… It means so much to me." I hesitate, my cheeks burning as I pull a small pouch from my back pocket. I hold it out towards Vinny, "this is for you."

He scrunches his eyebrows, cautiously accepting the pouch. As soon as he opens it and sees the coins inside he shakes his head, thrusting it back towards me. "I can't take this" he says, trying to hand it back but I put my hands up, refusing to accept it.

"Yes you can" I say, "I owe you that much."

"You don't owe me a thing" he says, still holding the money out towards me.

I shake my head, trying to look as firm as I can. "I have more money than I know what to do with now. This is the least I can do; you know you need it. You deserve _a lot_ more than that. Trust me." He shakes his head, his mouth opening and closing with arguments he can't voice. I sigh, taking a step forward so that I can take hold of his hand, closing his fingers over the pouch. " _Please_. Let me give you this" I beg.

He sighs, his eyes looking down at where my hand covers his, a pouch of money larger than either of us has seen before resting in his hand.

"Why?" he asks.

I shrug, "I told you why."

He nods, looking down at the ground as he holds the pouch at his side. The silence that falls between us is so palpable I could reach out a grab it if I wanted. I can see his mind whirring, his jaw flexing every once in a while with a failed attempt to speak. I don't know what to say either. We've stayed friends through a lot, through more than most people deal with, but the Games and everything unsaid between us is coming down quickly.

Finally, he sighs, sounding more like a groan than an actual sigh. His hand rubs the back of his neck, something he only does when he's nervous.

"Johanna," he starts, his voice uncertain "after the reaping…. I was scared. I thought I might never see you again so I…. I freaked out, okay? Kissing you… that was something I wanted to do so many times before. So I just… did it. I'm sorry. I know we've- that we've-" he shakes his head, not sure what to say, but I can finish the sentence for him. "We said it was nothing. But-but… Just forget about it, I'm really sorry."

I kick the front of my boot into the hard earth as he speaks, sending small puffs of dirt into the air. Even before he finishes speaking I'm already shaking my head, disregarding his words and all the effort he put into forming them. The knot in my stomach is tight, tighter than I've felt in a while.

"Don't be sorry" I whisper, looking up into his eyes. "Don't ever be sorry."

I take a step forward, shocked at my confidence. The next thing I know my hands are wrapped around the back of his neck, pulling his mouth down to mine. My hands brush through his dark hair, bunching it between my fingers as his arm snakes around my waist, pulling my body against his. All of the embarrassment and tension melts away. There's nothing as easy as this, nothing as _right_. I could do this for the rest of my life, hold myself against him, breathe the taste of his lips, let my mind forget everything else except right now.

I find myself leaning into him as he pulls his head back. A smile cracks at the corner of his mouth as he looks down at me, his chest expanding as he sucks in a breath. I'm surprised at how fast my own breathing has gotten. I suck down air, but I watch his lips, ready to lose all my oxygen for them.

"If I'd know this was how you'd react I would have done it a long time ago" Vinny laughs.

I allow myself a breathless chuckle and nod. "Yes you should have" I agree, tipping my head back to meet his kiss. We both have smiles on our faces, making a laugh rise up my throat until we're both laughing between desperate kisses.

Between breaths I stop to look up at him. "When did you get so good at that?" I ask, smiling. "I don't remember you being so good."

He laughs, rolling his eyes before going to kiss me again.

The next day, I find myself standing outside his door. We sit in the shed like old times, talking about things that matter and things that don't, being serious and joking until we both can't breathe.

We continue like this for weeks. Lily and Cam go back to school; my father returns to the mill even after I insist he doesn't have to with how much money we have. The summer heat disappears as October sets in. Vinny and I spend every Tuesday together as well as a few evenings once he's returned home from work. I confess things to him, thing I did and felt during the Games. He nods and listens and never once tells me I'm wrong or calls me out for the monster I am.

I start to feel better during the day, but every night I wake screaming, feeling like I'm drowning in blood. Lily has taken to sleeping with me, hugging me as tight as she can each time I have the nightmares. I know I should be embarrassed by it. My little sister, not even old enough to be reaped, has to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me it's all going to be okay.

Every once in a while I'll panic again for no reason. It can be the middle of the day and suddenly, without warning, I feel the sting of the spear digging into my thigh, or smell the roses from Snow's mansion. I'm too embarrassed to tell Vinny that they're the reason why I have such heavy bags under my eyes, even though he's too polite to ask.

The more time we spend together, the more comfortable we become. Within weeks I've memorized the shape of his lips, the way he smells after working all day, how his fingertips drag across my back, both gentle and fervent at the same time.

One evening, a few hours after Vinny left work for the day, I find him sitting on the ratty blanket on the floor of the shed. He jokes with me, making me laugh away the rest of my breath before he presses his lips against mine. I sigh against his mouth, leaning into the kiss in the hopes that it could last forever. But Vinny pulls back, still laughing from a comment he made about one of the town drunks. My legs are draped across his lap, his arm wrapped around my waist while he rolls a ball of wax around with his free hand. It's intimate, I know, but it doesn't feel that way. We've always been comfortable with each other; this feels like only a small step forward from where we were before I left.

"You're an idiot" I sigh, leaning my forehead against his shoulder, a smile dancing on my face.

"Maybe" he says, turning so that our faces are inches apart. "When do you leave?" he asks.

I groan, rolling my head away. He knows I hate thinking about leaving for the victory tour. Even the thought of it makes my stomach shrink to the size of a walnut. I close my eyes for a moment, making sure I have control of myself before I turn back to look at Vinny.

"Just over two months" I mutter.

Vinny looks thoughtful for a moment, his eyes sparkling against the low light. He leans forward suddenly, his hand holding onto my legs as he leans forward and reaches into a basket on the floor beside him. He pulls something out, looking at it in his hand before resting his back against the wall again.

"I um," he gulps. I can't help but smile; he's never nervous, so it's endearing to see him stutter. "I wanted to get you something and I saw this… I know you don't leave for a while but…" he shrugs, holding his hand out to me.

Cupped in his palm is a small golden charm in the shape of the moon. Vinny glances between his hand and my face. I press my lips together, forcing down the wave of emotion threatening to take over.

"You have your necklace" he says, "I know it's a sun but I saw that and I thought… I don't know really… If you don't like it…"

I pick up the small charm, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. Its thin and small but beautiful. I look up at Vinny, who is still waiting for me to respond. I open my mouth but I don't know what to say.

"Vinny" I whisper, closing my fingers over the charm. I turn to him, leaning towards him until I just brush his lips. I can feel him sigh in relief against me. "It's beautiful" I say, my hand resting against the side of his face.

I reach behind my neck, unclasping the necklace. I slip the moon on, holding it up for a moment before reclasping it around my neck. I look down at the sun and moon side by side, smiling at them. They're both small in my had, I roll them between my fingers, smiling up at Vinny, who is watching me with intensity. I raise my eyebrows at him, going to ask him why he's looking at me like that when he leans down, pulling me into a kiss.

He pulls his arm back against my waist, his other hand snaking through my hair. All of his usual gentleness is gone, replaced by a passion that takes my breath away. I press against him, my nose pressing into his check. He doesn't pull away like normal, instead he breathes heavily, shifting his position so that he's leaning farther over me. I lean back, my hands pressing into his chest and he continues moving forward until I'm lying on my back.

I lace my hands behind his head, pressing my fingers further down into his shirt as he kisses me even harder. He separates my lips with his tongue, sighing into my mouth when he drops to his elbows above me. My chest tightens, willing him to come even closer. Even cell in my body screams for him. I arch my back, wrapping my fingers in the fabric of his shirt. He pulls back for only a second, pulling his shirt off. He smiles when my eyes move down his chest, noticing the surprising firmness of his muscles.

I don't waste any time when he dips his head back down to grab the belt loops of his pants, my thumbs teasing around the edge. I suck in a breath when his hand begins drifting from my hair down my side, pulling at my shirt until he finally gives up and pulls it over my head.

He leans back, watching my hands as the pull at the edge of his pants. His hands rest on my hips but he looks up at my face. "Are you sure?" he asks despite his hands nearly trembling.

I nod, "I'm sure" I murmur, biting into my lip to keep from gasping. We've had sex before. More than once, but something about this is different. It's not for fun, it not sex just because we can. There's emotion behind it, passion, desperation, lust. Everything I wanted.

I wrap my legs around his torso, arching my back as he leans over me. My fingers dig into his back, nails pressing into his skin as his lips move from my mouth to my neck, working down to my collarbone and back up.

Vinny rolls off of me, his breath heavy as he reaches towards one of the shelves, pulling and old red blanket free. He unfolds it, draping it over the both of us. I pull it up to my chin despite the sweat beading on my forehead. He lays down beside me, his arm beneath my neck as we lie panting. It takes a while, but eventually the sweat dries and my breath returns to normal. Vinny is still breathing heavy when I roll onto my side, kissing him in the cheek before resting my head on his shoulder. We lie together for hours, not needing to speak. It's comfortable, just lying and breathing and feeling each other. I can survive the Capitol. I have my family, I have Vinny, I have everything I need.


	24. Chapter 24

"Tired of feeling lost, tired of letting go

Tear the whole world down, tear the whole world down"

~Breaking Benjamin

The days seem to just pass faster the further into the fall I plunge. It snows once in late November, and again two weeks later, covering the district in a layer of fluffy white snow. I sit on the steps outside my home while Lily and Cam throw snow at each other with William's grandchildren.

Derek's wife Adele took it upon herself to introduce me to the other Victors. William is in his seventies; he lives with his two daughters, their husbands and gaggle of children. He's quiet and mostly keeps to himself, but he's been nice enough. The only other person in the Village is Blight, an odd but pleasant enough person. He's one of those Victors, much like Derek, that's largely been ignored. Neither Blight nor William attend the Games anymore. They've long since stopped receiving invitations. There's only so much tolerance for the unpopular, scraggly drunks in the Capitol.

My father is at work, leaving me to look after Cam and Lily. It makes me happy watching them have fun with other kids. My chin rests on my knees, my arms hugging my legs to my chest. It's bitterly cold, and even with my thick coat and Vinny's arm around my shoulders I still find myself shivering.

"You can go inside" Vinny murmurs, his mouth just beside my ear.

I shake my head, ignoring how Derek keeps glancing at me from where he and Adele stand beside a window.

"I'm okay" I respond, and I am. I might be freezing, but I would lose each of my fingers if I got to watch Cam and Lily smile like they are.

Tomorrow the victory tour begins. No one talks about it anymore; it left all of our vocabularies once we passed into November. I bring my gloved hand up to the necklace, feeling the two charms where they rest at the hollow of my neck. Vinny has taken to spending every free moment with me, not that I'm complaining. Cam loves him, and since being back they've become best friends.

A smile dances on my lips when one of William's grandsons tackles Cam and the both fall laughing into a snowbank. This kind of scene, one of pure and innocent joy is rare, particularly in the Village, so everyone has come to watch; Derek and Adele peer from their window, I've even seen Blight peak his head out with a content smile. William's daughters are sitting outside, their father standing in the doorway with a heavy coat.

A pang of sadness bounces through me. It's been happening more often in the last two weeks, the sudden overwhelming feelings of fear or misery. I'll only be gone two weeks, but that could be a lifetime. I have to relive everything that happened in the arena, face the families of everyone who died, everyone I killed.

Lily shrieks with laughter, pulling my attention towards her. Vinny must know that my happiness has washed away because his arm tightens, pulling me closer so that he can press a soft kiss against my temple. I lean against him, knowing that Derek has looked over at us again. He too seems unhappy about the upcoming tour- not that I can blame him. He already did his time, but having been my mentor, he's required to attend.

"You're going to be okay" Vinny says, squeezing my arm.

I look away from Lily and turn towards Vinny. He smiles at me, which I return halfheartedly. It's fake but it's the best I can manage. "Yeah" I mumble, pulling my knees closer to my chest.

A yell from Cam snaps my attention away. He's running towards me, his hands held over his face. Blood drips onto his coat, staining the snow where he runs. I jump to my feet when I notice him, trailing him inside as he runs to the bathroom. Vinny is behind me as Cam reappears, tissue stuffed against his nose and a laughable grin on his face. I can't stop from laughing at how funny he looks, smiling goofily with blood all over his face. But under the laughter I can feel a throbbing in my temples as the smell reaches my nose. I turn around, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter and squeezing my eyes shut. I listen to my breathing, trying to calm myself before I lose it. I'm vaguely aware of Vinny talking to Cam and the close of the door as he goes back out into the snow. He would never let a bloody nose stop him. A single tear rolls down my cheek when Vinny walks back into the kitchen.

He gently pulls me into a hug, holding me against him until the slight tremble stops. My hands tingle with the sudden warmth. I sigh against his chest, thankful for his presence; I really don't know what I would do without him, without any of them.

I press my face into his neck, searching for the comforting scent of soap and pine. We can hear the antics outside, but I easily ignore them over the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. This sensation each time we're together still makes my stomach flutter. I tilt my head up, looking into Vinny's eyes. It feels so much like a dream, like a fantasy that I'll soon be ripped out of to find myself back in the arena. I reach up on my tiptoes, pressing my lips against his until the images of death melt away and all I can think about is my hand resting on his cheek, the way my breath hitches when he pulls my hips towards him, the utter sense of perfection that seems to engulf us.

The front door swinging open pulls us apart. Lily and Cam both rush in, dripping snow all over the floor no matter how hard I try to keep them standing on the mat. I only get them to keep still when I promise to make them hot chocolate. They wait at the table, listening to Vinny as he tells them stories while I work on heating the milk.

Their noses are cherry red when I hand them the mugs. I slump into the chair between Cam and Vinny, feeling suddenly exhausted after the rather uneventful day. I hold my head in my hand, smiling between my brother and sister as they talk a million miles an hour. My father comes home to find us in the same position almost an hour later. He listens patiently as Cam and Lily rely the day's events to him, but I notice him glancing over at me every few second. He's thinking about the tour, too; about my two-week absence and my sudden revival into the world of the Capitol. It's enough to make me want to scream and cry until I convince everyone that I can't leave my home, let alone travel between the districts. I rub my hand down my face, trying to rid myself of the frown I can't quite seem to get rid of.

Vinny stays through dinner, even making jokes with my father well past sundown. It's so rare to see him laugh that it makes me forget my misery for a few minutes when I see the smile break through his tough face. It's late, but it still hurts when Vinny finally stands to leave. Cam and Lily give him hugs, a handshake from my father before I trail him towards the door where my family can't see.

He looks at me with cautious eyes. My mood is falling by the second and he can see it. We hold on to each other for long minutes, fingers bunching into clothing like we might never see each other again. Because, the truth is, we might not. Even after Vinny tries pulling me away, I keep my fingers wrapped around his wrists. He sighs, an annoyingly happy sound from him.

"I'll see you in two weeks" he says, his hand brushing my hair to the side. "You're going to be just fine" he adds, before giving me a quick kiss and heading out the door.

I stand in the entryway for a while, holding myself together only barely. It takes me a frustrating amount of time to slow my breathing before I rejoin my family in the other room. I sit on the floor in front of the fireplace, my arm around Lily as she talks about a litter of puppies her friend has. My father and I make eye contact when she yawns widely.

"Lily, why don't you head up to bed" my father nods towards the stairs "you too Cam." Neither of them put up much resistance as they stumble upstairs.

I know my father wants to talk to me but I find myself wanting to go to bed myself, anything to let me disappear for a few hours. He lets out a gruff cough, scooting to the edge of his seat so that he's closer to me.

"When your mother died, I promised her I'd protect you. All of you," he says, his eyes fading out of existence for a moment like they always do when he talks about her. I look down at my fingers, suddenly interested in the dirt under my fingernails. "I failed you. I'm doing everything I can think of to make up for it but…" he shakes his head, grimacing slightly to himself.

I furrow my eyebrows "You didn't fail."

He purses his lips for a moment, his gaze intense. "I did. You shouldn't have had to go through what you did."

"That's not your fault" I argue. "You can't control the reaping."

"Maybe not, but I should've known how to help you. I should have stopped you from taking the tesserae. I know you're in pain and I don't know how to stop it."

I sigh, dipping my head down. "No one can stop it" I murmur.

He nods, almost as if in agreement. We're both silent for a moment, the only sound between us is the crackling of the fire.

"Did you watch?" I ask quietly, still starring staunchly down at my hands.

"Every second" he admits, mouth pressed tightly shut. "I needed to know what happened. I wanted…" he shakes his head, lost for words. "I want to be there for you."

A heavy lump forms in my throat and I nod slowly, looking up at him. It reminds me of something Derek said to me, when he brought me up to the hovership. He looks back at me fiercely, his eyes alight with a fire. "So you saw what I did" I say, shame welling. I'd hoped he didn't know, but how could that be true? The whole world knows what I did.

"You did what you had to do, Johanna. I don't blame you for that. I'm just sorry you had to do it."

"I killed them" the words come out as a whisper.

"You had to. I wish you hadn't had to, but I'm glad you did. I can't lose you too."

The pain, the rawness in his voice makes me hesitate. My father has hidden for years, giving attention and affection rarely, choosing to support us physically rather than emotionally. I can't blame him, though. He lost his wife, his son. He loves us, I know that, and I love him, too. I nod, trying to hold back the tears burning my eyes.

"I'm so proud of you" he finally says. Just like that his moment of honesty is over and he's retreated back to the safety of silence.

I crack a small smile but it doesn't last long. Sighing, I rise to my feet, wishing him a goodnight before leaving him alone.

I'm not surprised to find Lily curled up in my bed. She's wrapped herself into a ball, complaining that it's too cold. I smile at her as I change my clothes, enjoying the cold sting as I crawl under the sheets. She lies on her side facing me. "I love you" she murmurs, her eyes already closed.

She's asleep in an instant. How I wish I could fall asleep like that. "I love you too" I say before rolling onto my back and starring up at the ceiling until I succumb to unconsciousness.


	25. Chapter 25

p style="text-align: center;"I'm not really one to comment on my chapters but first of all I wanted to thank everyone who's given me such positive feedback! I'm not kidding when I say this is something I've been working on for years (I have 403 pages on word at the moment) and have only recently gotten the courage to post it here. This is something I'm still actively updating and editing when I have time, which is infrequent with school but I try my best. Thank you everyone!/p  
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![endif]- !-StartFragment-/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""How can you act like you know/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"When all you know is a lie?/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Another truth to expose/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Freedom will capture their eyes/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"We find this truth/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"We fight. You lose"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"~Flyleaf/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI wake up gasping, terror burning in my chest. Visions of blood are burned into the backs of my eyelids, taunting me each second I spend trying to pull myself awake. My eyes snap to Lily, who is sitting up, her warm hands gripping my arm. She looks horrified as I blink up at her. It must have been bad, the nightmare. Already I can't remember what caused my clothes to be soaked through with sweat or what has already caused my throat to feel raw with screams. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"It's okay" I say between heavy breaths. "It's okay, I'm awake" I grab Lily and pull her against me, "It's okay." My heart is pounding so hard I feel like the bed is moving. Lily lets out a whimper as she buries herself in the blankets beside me. I hold her even tighter and plant a soft kiss on her head. "I'm so sorry" I say, guilt mixing itself in with the slowly ebbing horror. "I didn't mean to scare you."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanShe doesn't say anything, but I can hear her breathing. It doesn't take her long to calm down enough to fall back to sleep, but I know that I won't be so lucky. I keep Lily held tightly against me, timing my breaths to match hers until I feel relatively calm. The sun is already beginning to peak its head up. It isn't too long before the sky turns from black to blue to white under the heavy layer of clouds. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLily begins to stir at what I guess is about eight thirty. She rolls around, bouncing in and out of sleep for a good half hour before her pale eyes meet mine. She smiles, kicking her feet wildly until she's ruined our bubble of warmth under the blankets. I sit up when she hops out of bed, running my fingers through the knots in my hair. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI take my time getting dressed. I don't spend any time on my hair, I know Lucille will change it anyway when she gets here. I squeeze the edge of the counter when I think of her and the ignorant, annoying prep team. They'll be em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"here/em, in my home with my family. I chew on the inside of my lip, wondering how I can possibly keep Karina from digging her fingers into Lily and Cam. But I don't think there's much of an option; they'll be here in two and a half hours. Hopefully I can keep the attention on me and away from everyone else, as miserable as it seems./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI stumble down the stairs, accepting the small plate of food my father offers. My stomach writhes at the thought of eating anything but I force down a few bites of eggs to satisfy the three of them who are all watching me with concerned creases between their eyes. I do what I can to seem normal and unaffected but I even I can tell my act is weak. Still, I'm grateful that no one says anything. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanMy fingers are painful and bloody with my picking by the time I hear a car rolling up outside. My intestines flip at the sound of the doors slamming and faint giggles reach my ears. There's a quick and far too perky knock at the door. em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Karina/em. I groan, earning myself a pursed lip look from my father. He rises slowly to his feet, his attention turning to the door. I jump to my feet, moving to block him. "I've got it" I mutter. If I could lock the three of them in a closet I would. All of em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"this/em, this new part of my life, if for me, not for them. I want to shield them from it, keep them blissfully ignorant. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanPulling open the door I'm unsurprised to see Karina standing in front of the entourage. Her previously pink wig has been replaced of rippling blues and silvers, her dress and long fur cloak made to match. Her attention snaps to me as soon as the door opens and I'm faced with an falsely broad smile./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"Oh Johanna!" she cries as she pulls me into a hug "I'm so happy to see you." I make a face, my nose wrinkling in disgust, which she ignores as she pushes past me into the warmth of the house. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI sigh, resigning to follow her as the rest of people behind her follow suit. I catch Lily's eye, who is starring at Karina with her mouth puckered into a small o. I raise my eyebrows at her, making a face behind Karina's back that makes Lily giggle. The sound catches my escort's attention, who lets out an exaggerated shriek when she notices Lily and Cam standing off to the side./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"Are these your brother and sister?" she gasps. Lucille and the prep team are just behind Karina. The two women both gasp as they take them in, commenting on how much they look like me though I know it isn't true. They look like my mother, beautiful and graceful even when they've just woken up. I take after my father with perpetually knotted hair and a facial expression that always looks angry. Both Cam and Lily seem to enjoy the attention, as much as it irritates me. I cross my arms over my stomach, wishing I could command them all to leave./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLucille comes up beside me, her face as stern as ever. Her dress has a laughably large bow over her midsection that I can't help but scoff at. It earns me an angry scowl but I just roll my eyes and cross my arms in front of me. em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Bite me/em. She barks at the women on the prep team who are still fawning over Lily, calling them back to attention./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"Get her ready" she orders them "we're on a tight schedule."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe pudgy woman must see the hesitation on my face because she clucks her tongue and pats me on the shoulder. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"it's alright dear, this won't take nearly as long as you're used to," she coos at me like I'm a child. She means well I'm sure, but it doesn't stop me from cringing with irritation. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI cast Lily and Cam an uncomfortable look as they lead me away, allowing me to show them to the bathroom off my bedroom. They murmur about the em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"quaintness/em of the house as I show them down the upstairs hallway. I furrow my eyebrows when once of them is shocked by the small size of the bathroom. I can't help but wonder how large their homes are. It's amusing to imagine them seeing my old home, which is little more than a shoebox compared to this. We only had em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"one /embathroom there, for the six of us, and it was at least half this size. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe plump woman, which I'm starting to recognize as Carlita, sits me down in a chair in my bedroom before digging out some gel from her bag and starts massaging it into my hair. The man crouches awkwardly in front of me so he can start painfully plucking hair from my eyebrows. The other woman, whose name is Jessamine or something like that shakes her head at me, complaining about the state my fingernails are in. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI shrug, trying to muster any sort of apology but I can't. I've never been a nail bitter but the weeks of stress as this day grew closer started the habit. The two start bickering with her about who has the harder job, forcing me swallow down an angry retort about how they're blatantly insulting me. They soon run out of steam, however, and return to their normal routine of chirping to each other without even realizing I can hear everything they're saying. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanJessamine slaps my wrist when I curl my hands together when the man brings up the Games. I let her put my hand back into position, but I'm immediately much more tense. They all seem surprisingly reminiscent; my victory has given them attention and fame they've never had before. As soon as the tour is over they'll be back to their old status once a new victor is crowned. "em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Glad I could be of assistance/em" I sneer, rolling my eyes which only momentarily shuts them up. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThey were right when they said this wouldn't take long. It takes them under an hour to restore my hands, face, and hair back to their standards. Carlita brushes my eyes with rather toned down browns and tans, making it so that I don't look like I'm wearing any makeup at all. Which of course means I still look wildly different than normal. My lips and nails follow suit, still coated in layers but done so expertly that I look rather like I'm a doll instead of a person. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLily pokes her head around the corner at some point between my hair and makeup, causing the three Capitol puppets to fall into another round of shrieks and cooing. I immediately sit up straighter, trying to get in a word between the incessant chatter. But I close my mouth when Jessamine offers to paint Lily's nails and pulls out an extraordinarily bright purple color that makes her eyes double in size. I lean back slowly, keeping my attention strictly on my sister and orange haired woman. It actually makes me feel bad, seeing how kindly she treats Lily. They laugh together, Lily's attention captivated when Jessamine tries to show her how to apply a clear layer over top so the nails don't get ruined. I wonder what she would think if I told her how hard pressed she'd be to find any nail polish anywhere in the district. But I keep my mouth shut, feeling increasingly guilty for snapping at them before. But it doesn't change my opinion of them. They still prep tributes for slaughter. They never cared about me and would be no less enthralled if I were dead. If anything, it just makes me more confused. How can people who can be so kind and caring so okay with something as barbaric as The Hunger Games? /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanOnce Carlita and the man, who I've now tried the name of and failed to remember, deem me ready, I'm surprised to find myself laughing at the carefree banter between Lily and Jessamine. Lily jumps to her feet once I've risen, fanning her electric purple fingers in my face. She runs out of the room to go show Cam and our father, nearly barreling into Lucille as she brings up clothes for me to change into. The prep team disappears down stairs but Lucille remains in the room, waiting for me to change so she can make any adjustments she wants. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanAt first it was hard not to feel awkward, having people watch me change my clothes, or better yet, change them for me, but now I hardly care. I'm relieved to see that Lucille has given me pants instead of a dress. They're black, softer than even the blankets on my bed. She's also supplied a surprisingly thick although lacey shirt that reveals more of my chest than I'd like while also remaining modest. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanDownstairs Karina is split between making herself "em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"presentable/em" as she says, and ordering the camera crew around. Lily and Cam are sitting together in the kitchen being interviewed, my father presumably somewhere else getting the same interrogation. I chew on my lip, rotating my attention between the clusters of people. I stand in the entrance to the kitchen, people pushing past me, calling orders to each other. I move to the side, picking at a hangnail on my thumb while I watch the chaos. For the first time since Karina called my name at the reaping, I feel utterly and completely invisible. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanLucille is the one who breaks my shield of invisibility. She thrusts a silver coat at me, waiting for me to pull it on before adjusting the open front and sleeves as if I somehow ruined the soft fur. "Here" she says, handing me a pair of black gloves. I pull them on, surprised at how warm they are despite the lack of thickness. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"Alright everyone!" Karina shouts, standing in the center of the action. "Smile wide! This is very exciting!" she tells me as she grabs me by the shoulders and ushering me out the door./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI don't even try to follow her instructions. Although I'm not particularly frowning, I'm most definitely not smiling; this might be the em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"least/em exciting thing, following the Games. Derek is already standing outside, clothed in his own dark gray fur coat. I can see how uncomfortable he is before I get down the three steps in front the door. He smiles at me, giving me a nod that I think it supposed to be supportive but mostly comes off as tired. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanKarina orders me around for pictures and video, sometimes with Derek, sometimes by myself, once with Lily at my side. I'm freezing and irritated once she's satisfied we've gotten enough footage. em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Footage of me standing in the snow/em I think with an eye roll. For the camera's sake, my family accompanies me to the train station, Lily and Cam shocked at the luxury of the car the whole time. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe crowd at the train station is significantly smaller than that at my return home. I'm surprised anyone is here at all; most people are at work or school in the middle of the afternoon. But I pay them little attention, choosing to worry myself with people I love. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI crouch down, pulling Lily into a hug, choosing to ignore her when she complains that she can't breathe. Cam is next to say goodbye, then my father, and then Lily another time. As much as I try to convince myself otherwise, I can't stop the feeling that it feels like the last time I'm going to see them. President's Snow's words are heavy in my heart as I say my goodbyes. I have nothing to worry about- I haven't done anything to anger him, and I won't. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"I love you all so much" I say, finally letting Lily go. My father places his hands on her shoulders, holding her back from chasing me as Karina pulls me towards the train. I watch them through the window, waiting until they've long gone before I sink into a chair, pulling my knees to my chest and closing my eyes. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanThe next few hours pass by in a blur. Mostly I sit still, not speaking to anyone, not taking any of the refreshments offered, not even lifting my head to look anywhere but the window. It feels like a dream- no, a nightmare, being back on this train. Is this what Derek feels, even years later? I swallow heavily, this feeling has to fade eventually. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanKarina has to say my name three times before I finally hear her. "Are you alright?" she asks, more irritable than concerned. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I glare at her, narrowing my eyes slightly. "Fucking em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"brilliant/em" I hiss sarcastically/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""I should hope so" she snaps back. "You should be happy, Johanna. Not many people get this opportunity."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I'm almost shocked into silence. I stare at her, mouth agape. "Because they're em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"dead/em" I say. "I em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"killed them/em."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"She rolls her eyes but I can see she's uncomfortable. I lean back in my chair, glaring at her, waiting for her to ask whatever it is she came to. Finally, she sighs, her hands holding onto her thin hips. "Dinner is ready, if you'd like to join us."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI make a face at her, turning back towards the window for a long second before standing up and following her to the dining car. I'm sure the food's delicious, but I don't taste a bite of it. Even though I'm the last to sit, I'm the first to rise. Karina mutters to herself about manners as I scoot away from the table and nearly run back through the doors. I only barley make it to my bedroom, dashing to the bathroom before I lose the entire meal. I grip my knees tightly, remaining hunched over the toilet until I'm sure I'm not going to puke again. I'm sure Karina would have a lot to say about that./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI fall backwards onto the bed, holding my hands over my face. I don't want to be here. I want to go home; I want to go home right now. When I drop my hands to my side I'm not surprised to feel the burn of tears in my throat. How am I supposed to sleep without Lily? How do I keep myself together without any of them? My chest aches so bad it feels like someone just punched me. I can't face this again. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"Johanna?" my name is muffled behind the door, preceding a quick but quiet knock. I roll my head to the side, glaring at the metal barrier like it has teeth. The shadow remains on the other side of the door despite no knock coming again. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanMy jaw is clenched together, forcing myself to appear composed as I get up to answer it. Derek stands on the other side, just as sad and pathetic looking as the first time he stood here. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"I want to know if you're okay" he asks, the scent of wine heavy on his breath. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"No" I say, clenching the frame of the door "I'm not fucking okay."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanHe sighs, though I suspect he expected that answer. "I know I can't do much but… if you need anything at all, you know where I am."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI lean my forehead against the cool metal. He turns to leave but I call him back. "How do you live with it?" I ask./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanHe sighs, scratching at the scruff on his neck as he leans his head back in contemplation "You just do" he says. "You hold on to the people you love, let them take care of you."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI nod, not satisfied with his answer. "That's great but that doesn't help me now."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /span"I know."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI roll my eyes, "goodnight Derek" I say, shutting the door before he even finishes saying goodnight himself./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanspan style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanI walk back to my bed, hesitating before lying down. How the hell am I going to get through this?/span/p  
p style="text-align: center;"!-EndFragment-/p 


	26. Chapter 26

"We are the in between, cast down as sons of war

Struck to the Earth like lighting, on this world we're torn

We won't cause the pain, of living out their law

Take joy in who you are, we know our wings are flawed"

~Black Veil Brides

There's knocking at my door just as my eyes begin to drop closed. I grimace, weighed down with exhaustion but unable to have gotten even a moment of sleep. As terrified as I was before the Games, I was always able to fall asleep, albeit with difficulty. But with Karina coming to wake me up, barking at me to get out of bed and get dressed, I find myself stumbling with fatigue. I don't care to pay attention to the clothes I pull on, some frilly blue shirt and black pants. Lucille will just change it later anyway.

"The sun isn't even up" I grumble as I follow behind Karina, who is bouncing down the hall.

She flutters her fingers at me, "it's been snowing all night in District 12, it's later than it looks" she replies as if I had any way of knowing.

I swallow heavily, glancing out one of the windows as if I might already catch a glimpse of the mines. Naturally the tour starts in the poorest district, home to those even less fortunate than District 7. I know we aren't the poorest district, not even in the bottom three, but it's hard to imagine anything being worse than what I'm accustomed to.

I find my stomach growling as I sit down to eat. There's some elaborate dish made with beans and rice and corn that I've never seen before, but it makes me want to cry at how delicious it tastes. Derek doesn't appear until Karina and I have satisfied the silence between us. He takes a cup of the caffeine infused hot chocolate that I've been greedily sipping all morning. I'm able to sit at the table for a long time, holding my head in my hand as I will the caffeine to kick in.

Jessamine, the tall, purple haired woman from my prep team comes to get me just as the sun is able to peak out from beneath the thick layer of clouds. She yawns three times before we even get a few cars away. The other two seem much the same, rubbing their eyes and sipping coffee as they begin ripping the hair from my body. I grit my teeth, trying to focus on their quiet murmuring over the sound of hair being torn from my skin. They wake up more and more as they submerge me in oils and concoctions that make my skin burn. Their normal chatter has returned full force once they've deemed I've soaked long enough and pull me out of the tub.

By the time I'm released for lunch, my scalp is aching, my eyes feel bloodshot, and my skin burns where my clothes rub against it. Karina, Lucille, and the prep team carry the conversation, nearly shaking the table with their excitement. It's the first victory tour for all of them. I don't think I could match their enthusiasm if I tried. My stomach feels like an open pit as I pick absent mindedly at some green noodles that Carlita says are her favorite. Even Derek manages to get sucked into the conversation, actually laughing at some of the terrible jokes.

The sound of their nasally Capitol accent starts giving me a headache. I bury my head in my hands, massaging my fingers into my temples in the hope that the throbbing will cease. A shriek of laughter sends an almost palpable point into my skull, making me grit my teeth together forcefully.

"Now personally I don't see why we have to go to District 12 at all" Lucille says, shaking her head like it's the most annoying thing in the world. "Honestly, it's just cold and depressing. Nothing worth seeing about it."

"Yes!" Karina squeals her agreement.

I dig my palms into my eyes, hoping to see the explosion of colors, but, like I expect, at the mention of their district, the faces of two tributes burn into me. I don't think I ever even spoke to either of them, but since coming home, I learned their names and faces, particularly when they return to torment me. They both died at the cornucopia, their deaths weren't my fault, but they screech at me and dig their nails into my hair like I'd personally killed them.

"Do you ever stop talking?" I snap, stopping Karina mid word. Everyone looks at me, expressions mixing shock and confusion. "No one cares what you think!" I add, pushing myself away from the table and stomp away.

I keep moving backwards on the train, focusing as much as I can on my footsteps to prevent the ever increasing pressure in my head from exploding. Finally, I explode through a final door, my hands clutching the rails as I stand beneath the open sky. Tears burn at my eyes, so cold I think they might freeze on my face if they fall. I blink them away in a hurry, sucking in freezing breath after breath until I'm able to blink without seeing the accusing eyes staring at me. Snow swirls around me, seemingly blown up by the train more so than actually falling. I can't help but stare down the tracks, watching the horizon as it perpetually disappears. What if I jumped? Surely I'd break my leg, if not more. We're close to District 12 though, I could disappear, never to be seen by the Capitol again. Of course I never would, but the thought is tempting. I swear that, in the distance, amongst the swirling clouds of snow, I can see shapes, running to freedom, running away.

After a while I start to shiver, and no matter how tightly I hug my arms to myself I just keep getting colder. I drop my arms before turning back into the train. Derek's standing just inside the door, making me flinch when I see him. I cross my arms, pretending I hadn't just jumped at the sight of him.

"Johanna" he sighs, "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't" I respond to quickly. A heavy silence falls between us, making me fidget.

He takes a deep breath, running his hand down his face. "Look. I know I haven't talked to you much these last few months so I don't know exactly how you've been dealing but… Well I _do_ know what you're going through. I want you to be able to talk to me, okay? You don't have to be alone out here."

His earnestness surprises me. I expected some sort of reprimand for my behavior, but he's so sincere. We haven't talked almost at all since returning home. Sure I'd seen him around, nearly every day in reality, but talking to him, acknowledging him at all made it too easy to remember everything I've been trying to forget. I like Derek, I really do, so I can't figure out why even looking at him makes my chest ache. But of course, I do know, don't I?

"Thanks," I murmur, looking down at my feet.

"I mean it, Johanna" he pauses, waiting for me to look at him again. When I finally do, his face contorts into one resembling one my father gets when he's annoyed. "But you really need to be careful around Karina and Lucille… they're just trying to help you."

 _Help me?_ The words leave a bitter taste in my mouth. "They don't give a _shit_ about me. I'm not going to pretend they're my friends." I believe it, too. I'm nothing more than bragging rights to them, I'm hardly even human. I thought Derek understood that, I thought he despised them as much as I did. They are the Capitol. They live on top of us; because of them, we suffer. Because of them, we die.

"I'm just saying it might be worth it to pick your battles instead of-" he starts but I cut him off.

I find my jaw clenching together, only serving to exasperate the headache pounding in my temples. "Pick my battles?" I echo. "Do you think I don't know how to do that? I'm here aren't I? They're all so busy ripping my hair out and making me look _beautiful_ so they can march me around a stage and do you hear me protesting? I know what I'm doing Derek."

A smile creeps onto his face, but there's no humor there. "I'm just trying to help."

I hesitate, my mouth half open as I feel a twinge of regret. He looks even more sullen than usual. "I know," I say, my fingers twisting in my hair.

"Come on" Derek says, turning his back towards the snowy landscape. "It's freezing in this damn hallway."

I follow after him, feeling a strange sense of unity with him. Karina shows up a few cars down, her lips pressed together as she passes us by. Derek gives me a look, clearly asking me to apologize, but I hold my tongue. I don't have anything to apologize for, battles be damned.

We settle down in one of the many sitting rooms. The scattered appearance of shacks and farms begin to give way to clustered homes, discarded mining equipment and, after over an hour of sitting and watching, the heart of District 12. I swallow heavily as I watch the city fall into view, if I can even call it that. People stop to watch as the train rolls by, oil and dust smeared across each and every face. I've seen misery, lived with it like an old friend, but I've never seen it more evident than this. Everything is gray and cloudy even though the sun has begun to poke through the thick clouds. No one, not even the children, seem even remotely interested in the train's arrival, it's just a momentary distraction from another day of work. Just an excuse to stop for a moment.

"How much longer?" I ask, my fingers clutching the windowsill. As bleak as it is, I can't look away. These people are broken, little more than empty shells stumbling through the snow. I'm only here to rub my victory in their faces. Stand in front of them and yell "look at me! I'm alive and your children are dead! Better luck next year!"

Derek makes a noncommittal noise, groaning as he rises to his feet and comes to join me at the window. "I'm not promoting alcoholism but… here" I raise my eyebrows as he hands a lowly filled glass to me. "It helps at least a little" he adds, "I think."

I consider the drink for a moment, hesitating in taking it when Karina appears behind us to tell me I need to get dressed. I swallow the liquid in a single gulp, wincing at the flavor of it before pushing in front of Karina and marching in front of her to my room.

My prep team does my hair and makeup, not making me look too elaborate. Lucille dresses me in a violet colored dress with a heavy fur coat on top. The tones are all soft and muted, reminding me of the morning after an ice storm when the whole world is quiet and peaceful.

Karina walks me towards the entrance of the train, reciting the itinerary and gently reminding me that these first few Districts are rather uneventful and short-lived. She adjusts a strand of my hair, earning a glare from Jessamine and me as the train pulls into the station. I try to slow my breathing, but each second I feel like I'm only sinking further into disrepair. People are gathered outside the station, Peacekeepers so heavily stationed that despite the cold, a thin layer of sweat beads on my skin. Is the guard for me? Or do these worn down people need the " _motivation_ "?

We're driven down tree lined streets that I suppose must be beautiful in the summer when all the color isn't wiped away. Even the Justice Building has charm to it, if I overlook the chipping walls and sagging wooden stage. Karina clucks her tongue, muttering something about appearances for the Victor. But as soon as we're escorted inside and the mayor greets us, she's back to her bubbly, enthusiastic self.

I'm in a full sweat by the time the mayor leaves us, the anthem booming in my ears and his speech pounding against my skull. "Don't forget to smile!" Karina shrieks before pushing me towards the doors.

There's a polite applause that I suspect is only given out of fear of the Peacekeepers. People are packed in front of the stage, faces at varying levels of interest. Some look genuinely curious, others more annoyed at the disruption, and then, the angry.

I try to keep from looking at the families on the platforms in the center of the crowd, but they're placed so that I have little choice. The girl's family seems to be only her parents, her mother sobbing into her father's shoulder, the look on his face as he evaluates me making goosebumps rise on my arms. The boy's family consists of a worn down looking woman, a teenage boy and young girl. The three of them are all able to stay composed, but I can see the sorrowful hunch in their shoulders. They can't even give these poor families a break from the torment.

The applause dies in seconds, any remaining sounds easily silenced by the mayor's wave. He plunges into another speech, doing whatever he can to encourage the crowd. I wipe my palms on my coat when the attention turns to me. I made sure to memorize the speech written for me; the thought of standing on stage, staring blankly without a thought in my mind makes nauseous. I hardly hear the words as I say them, but I know I got them right. Two young girls present me with a bouquet, which I feel uncomfortable accepting but do nonetheless.

I manage to get through the night without passing out, or puking. I nod where I'm supposed to, shake the hands that are offered, accept each and every half-hearted congratulation given. By the time I stumble into bed I can't help but feel as if I'd been ripped apart by a pack of wolves.


	27. Chapter 27

"There is nothing left of you

I can see it in your eyes

Sing the anthem of the angels

Then say your last goodbye"

~Breaking Benjamin

Each day is the same as the last; wake up at dawn, get dressed, listen to speeches then give my own. In some districts I'm paraded through the streets, others I'm confined to the outside of the justice building. Each district is different, some snow covered, others still cooking under the sun. I see forests, mountains, beaches, and deserts. Panem is more expansive than I ever thought. No teacher can ever really show you this type of diversity. But for as different as each district is, they all blur together. I avoid the eyes of the angry, sad, and broken people. I fight the urge to run each time I'm on stage, forced to look at the mourning families of my competition, some whose children I killed personally. Those are the hardest. I never want to be there and I can never escape the feeling that, given the chance, everyone in the world would kill me.

I sigh as I watch the factories and smoke polluted air of District 5 disappear behind us. As promised, the celebrations have only gotten more elaborate the closer we come to the Capitol. Karina and my prep team are excited and impatient to arrive in District 4, Lucille keeps a cool expression but I can see her melt at the mention of the fishing district. None have them have been there, but they've all heard wonderful things about the Career districts which makes sense, they have the money and the enthusiasm. Even though District 4 is barley a Career district, they still are. And they still have money.

Lucille has me dressed in a knee length, form fitting silver dress for my speech. I try to keep my eyes on the card the Capitol has given to me, but between each breath I find my gaze flickering up towards the man, woman, and girl maybe a year older than me standing on the platform beneath their daughter's smiling image. Anja was her name. She survived until the last day, only to be ambushed by Daniel from District 1 and, ultimately, killed by me. The girl looks so much like her sister, sun tanned skin and rolling blonde hair. Her eyes are on fire as the bore into my, accusing me of stealing her sister, taking her away when she was so close. Sweat rolls down my spine, but I'm too nervous to bat it away. My voice is trembling by the time I finish speaking and the mayor reclaims his position in the spotlight. I can't get away fast enough.

I slap away Karina's hand when she tries to chase after me. I feel like I'm suffocating in the damn humidity and the heat is crashing against me in waves. I escape down a hallway, hesitating when I reach a door. My stomach is curling in on itself but the heat is rising by the second. Gritting my teeth together I press my back against the wall, sighing at the coolness of it. I run my fingers up through my hair, pulling at the roots to give my mind something else to focus on rather than the rapid pounding of my heart and bile rising in my throat. I have to do this four more times, then I can go home. At least at home the people are truly happy about my survival and not wishing their children had been the ones to return home while I lie dead in some wooden coffin in the tribute's graveyard. What scares me is how much I agree with them. It would be so much easier if I were dead, and it wouldn't be so damn _hot_. I wipe my forehead on the back of my head, letting my fingers linger over where my hair has plastered to my skin.

Karina comes to find me ten minutes later, lecturing me as she leads me to the dinner about how it's rude and dangerous to run off like that. I don't have the energy to argue with her so I just nod and roll my eyes and let her lead me into a room full of people. For at least an hour I'm expected to remain at my seat and eat the deliciously prepared seafood, but as soon as the meal is finished people expect to talk to me.

I groan internally as person after person approaches me, congratulating me on my victory and _bravery_. Why does every assume I'm so brave? More often than not I want to run and never stop. I hear my name from somewhere behind me, but I don't look. Only when it's called again, this time closer, do I recognize the voice. I turn to see Finnick Odair, the same stupid grin on his face as the first time I met him. I keep myself stoic, though admittedly, I'd rather speak to him than anyone else here. Meeting other Victors has been a confusing whirlwind. Some are kind and gracious while others are sullen and hostile; there's a few that are drunk or so out of it that I'm not sure they can remember anything they said. Finnick falls into the first group, treating me with respect but distance.

"You enjoying your extravaganza?" he asks, a knowing shimmer behind his eyes.

I shrug, scowling at someone lingering with the obvious intention of approaching me the moment I appear available.

"Well," Finnick sighs, his attention shifting to the red-haired women beside him. I recognize her, but it takes Finnick's introduction for me to recognize her as Annie, the Victor from two years before me. I've heard the rumors about her but she doesn't look crazy so much as afraid. She clings to Finnick's arm, her eyes flickering around the room widely. She smiles at me when I catch her eye, but otherwise she never says a word. President Snow officially pardoned her from returning to the Games as a mentor after she had a melt-down the first day back in the Capitol. It was delivered as a kindness, but even then I could feel the threatening nature behind it, and I understand it even more now; she gives a bad impression of a Victor and that won't be tolerated.

"How do you like District 4?" Finnick asks, interrupting a particularly intense glare I'm giving. "Charming, isn't it?"

"It's too hot" I mumble, "and it smells like fish."

"Yeah well, District 7's too cold, and smells like…. Dirt" he responds, his eyes trailing after someone I don't recognize.

I raise my eyebrows. I forget he's been to District 7 before, that all Victors have. When I saw Finnick standing on the stage years ago I never could have imagined I'd be standing here talking to him. But I didn't ever imagine I'd actually get selected at the reaping, let alone go on to win the Games. The floor seems to jerk beneath me, making me sway dangerously. I take a hesitant step back, gripping the back of a chair to keep myself steady. Annie's hair ripples like fire as her attention snaps towards me, distracted from something in the distance.

Finnick's ready to ask me if I'm okay but I wave away the question with my hand. It's a stupid question anyway.

"Why are you even talking to me? I thought you were supposed to hate me," I say. When Finnick looks at me curiously, I sigh, letting my eyes flutter closed for a brief rest. "I killed your tribute" I say with a shrug, biting my lip to keep the memory from attacking.

"She wasn't mine" he says casually, like it was the simplest thing in the world, not someone's life. I'd experienced my fair share of shunning and glares from mentors in the last few districts, not that I can blame them. "That seems a bit hypocritical" he adds.

"Does it?" I ask, breathless with the effort of staying on my feet. Finnick's no idiot, and I'm sure I'm not being subtle about the sudden dizziness. My eyes dance over the crowd, searching for Derek or Karina, or hell- even Lucille; anyone who can get me out of here.

"I killed both your tributes when I won…" he says, trying to follow my gaze. "Are you okay?"

I roll my eyes without bothering to look at him. I shake my head, mumbling a quick goodbye before pushing away from the table and making a b-line towards Derek, who is standing against the back wall, enveloped in his own adoring fans.

People try to stop me as I walk but I ignore all of them, going so far as to rip my arm out of a man's hand and shove him back. When Derek notices me pushing towards him, he looks relieved to have an excuse to break free from the crowd.

"What is it?" he asks as soon as I'm close enough.

I shake my head, using all my energy to keep my face composed. My chest feels like it's going to burst with the pressure building inside of it and yet I struggle to get each breath. My mouth opens and closes like a fish, struggling between air and words. Derek seems to understand, though. He gently puts his hand on my shoulder and leads me through the dinner guests. We come to a pair of glass doors, which I nearly crash through to leave the stuffy room behind me.

I gulp down air, feeling the breeze dry the sweat against my skin. I take a few steps away from the door before leaning against the wall, my fingers tangled in my hair. I'm vaguely aware of Derek coming to stand beside me. He doesn't say anything, to which I'm incredibly grateful.

Derek lets me hide for a while longer before he can reasonably excuse us back to the train. It is a long ride from District 4 to District 3 and although we aren't lacking on time, its better was to be safe. Karina seems irritated by our quick departure, muttering under her breath with Carlita and Jessamine. They don't matter. I push past them and lock myself in my room as soon as I can, making sure no one can see me when I break down into tears.

District 3 is easy, which is a relief. I didn't know either of their tributes, and I especially wasn't responsible for their deaths. But even before we leave I'm already worrying over District 2. They're a Career district, and home to Hubert, the should-be Victor of the Seventy-First Hunger Games. My only respite is that I'm expected to appear in both District 2 and 1 in the same day, meaning I won't have much time to hang around.

It's definitely as bad as I thought. No one in District 2 seems particularly happy to see me, which is odd, seeing that they're cheering and celebrating more than any other district so far. Standing on the stage in front of the whole district makes me feel like I'm a bug, pinned down by the hands of a child. I'm hardly even understanding the words I'm reading off the card. My mouth is so dry and the nagging through pops up in my head that I'm going to pass out.

"-honor their sacrifice…"

My mouth stops seemingly of its own accord. _Honor their sacrifice_. The words bounce around in my head and before I know what I'm doing, I've crushed the stupid square of paper in my hands. A near hysterical laugh bubbles on my throat as I look up at the crowd, suddenly unsure.

"That's such bullshit… isn't it?" I laugh. " _Honor their sacrifice_. I don't honor _shit_ , least of all their sacrifice because I didn't sacrifice them… I killed them. "I look up from the crowd, focusing on the platform in which Hubert's family stands. His mother has tears in her eyes, while his father stares at me with fury. "Their deaths certainly didn't have any _honor_ , that's for damn sure. I killed Hubert because if I hadn't, he would have killed me. He killed Camilla-" I look over to her family, "for the exact same reason." I swallow heavily, glancing to the side where I see Karina shooting daggers at me and making a gesture with her hand. I ignore her, once again looking back to the audience. "There's no honor in any of this."

I turn and march off the stage, blowing off Karina as she begins an angry lecture. Derek raises his eyebrows when I find him, but he doesn't seem particularly angry. More amused than anything.

Happy to simply have me away from a microphone, Peacekeepers and district officials usher me to the next even- the party.

Each Victor that comes to shake my hand looks at me like they'd prefer I were dead- like they know that it shouldn't be me standing here. It all makes me feel more self-conscious and scrutinized that I've ever felt, even in the Capitol. At least there, they truly love me.

Once we reach the Capitol I'm almost surprised by the relief. This is the last stop before home. Just a few more days and then I can forget all of this. But being back in the Training Center is its own kind of hell. I can't sleep without crippling nightmares, ones that I can't wake from and even when I do, I'm suffocated by the darkness and knowledge that I'm completely alone; Lily isn't here to comfort me, Cam isn't trying to sympathize. I can't sleep more than a few brief hours at a time.

The first day in the Capitol, mostly involving appearances in front of screaming crowds, makes the pit in my stomach grow. I can almost see the knife hanging over my head now. I know what's coming, President Snow made it clear.

The note is delivered to me almost immediately after I return back to the training center. It doesn't say much, just a name and a time, and instructions telling me to be in lobby waiting for a car coming to pick me up. I swallow down bile when I notice the package accompanied with the note. My hands shake as I pull the string loose, revealing a slim black gown much more revealing than anything I'd be comfortable with. But I can't question it, I can't refuse because I know the price.


	28. Chapter 28

"Why are you so far from me?

In my arms where you ought to be

How long will you make me wait?

I don't know how much more I can take"

~The Civil Wars

The wind whips around me, making me shiver where I stand. My nose and fingers ache with the cold but I find myself dreading the opening of the door. This doesn't feel real, but it doesn't quite feel like a dream either. When the door is pulled open and I'm led into the warmth, the goosebumps still remain on my arms.

The man who greets me is… plain. Sure, his hair is dyed an erratic mixture of red, orange, and yellow, but his skin color is normal, he has no tattoos, not eccentric hairstyles or outfits, and he's young. He's older than me, sure, but I wouldn't guess he was older than twenty-two or three. What I find both extremely aggravating yet infuriatingly captivating are his eyes; bright blue against his midnight black hair, just like Vinny, even down to the confident swagger as he approaches me.

His smile is kind, almost inviting as his eyes wander down me. "Welcome Johanna, can I get you anything?"

I pressed my lips together, trying to ignore the resemblance between him and Vinny. Why offer me anything anyway? We both know why I'm here, no use pretending otherwise. "No" I grumble.

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips and I flinch against his touch even before he lays his hands on me. "If you're sure" he responds, grabbing me by the waist and pulling me after him. He doesn't take me far, only down a marble floored hallway to an open room, windows looking down over the city. My muscles tense when his hand wanders from my waist to the zipper of the dress, fumbling to pull it down as he turns me to face him. "Have you done this before?" he asks, his voice drawling as he looks down at me.

I stare back at him, swallowing hard against the urge to wrap my hands around his throat and choke the life from him "A few times." _But only with one person_. _One that looks so much like you_. He shrugs, like it's no matter to him, pulling my dress from my shoulders and turning to the buttons on his own shirt.

He laughs, though I'm not sure at what. The sound echoes around the room bouncing between the glass chandelier and onyx piano, before returning to reverberate off my skull. Shrugging off his shirt, he pulls me against him, his hand resting on my neck and he presses his lips against mine.

I squeeze my eyes closed once he pushes me down onto a blood red couch. His hands are on me, all over me. Tears burn in the corner of my eyes but I will not open them. I try to relax, let him finish with me so I can leave. My breath is shaky and panicked, but I don't think he notices between his own breaths. _It's just like with Vinny_ , I tell myself, _that's all this is_. I repeat it over and over in my head, _it's Just Vinny, it's all okay, you_ want _this_. For a brief second I'm able to convince myself its true, that the blue eyed boy on top of me isn't a sadistic pervert from the Capitol. But it only takes me a second to open my eyes and see that it's not true.

The man doesn't let me leave, not until I've been there for hours, trying to convince myself that it's only going to last a few more minutes- a few more seconds. In the center of the room there's a table, the time projecting that it's two in the morning. Tears burn my eyes, making my whole face ache with the strain. The man, I never even learned his name, got himself so drunk that he knocked himself out, his arms currently draped over my stomach.

When telling myself that this man was Vinny only made me hurt more, I switched to a different mantra. This pain is nothing compared to the pain of losing him, of losing my family. As much as I'd rather peel off my skin than lie here, I'd do it a million times over for them. They don't even have to know; they _won't_ ever know about this.

Snow can do whatever he wants to me. He's won, I've surrendered to him. It isn't winning that matters anymore, it's survival.

I'm able to free myself after long, agonizing moments of peeling myself free from the man, so drunk he doesn't even notice. I don't care about appearances; I know how I must look. Not even bothering to zip my dress up all the way, I shrug on the coat and almost run to the door where, as promised, the car still waits for me.

I sit on my hands to keep them from shaking as I'm driven back to the training center. the building is deserted this late at night, but I still find my eyes flickering warily around the lobby as I smash my fist over and over into the elevator button.

The whole world seems to move in slow motion as I rise through the floors. I can feel the pressure building, waiting to explode, all the while gaining in momentum as I force it down, force it to wait. The screech erupts from my throat just as I burst into my room. My knees scrape against the floor, pressing the carpet fibers against my skin. The tears are blinding, the sobs choking, but I hardly feel them. I want to scream my throat raw, I want to rip off my skin where that man touched me. I wrap my fingers in my hair, pulling with full force until the pain blurs my vision even more.

Shakily, I rise to my feet. I refuse to look at the clothes as I drop them on the floor and step into the shower. I don't care what happens to them, so long as I never see them again. I turn the water as hot as I can stand it, letting my skin turn red beneath the scalding stream. I use the towels and loofahs but my skin still feels contaminated no matter how hard or how long I scrub; I turn to my hands, digging my nails into my arms and thighs until deep, crimson scratches linger behind. I feel rawer than even when my prep team gets to me by the time I talk myself out of the shower and I curl up in bed. The sobs don't stop, not even when I fall into a fit of interrupted sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

"Can you hear me Father John?

Have you lost what you believe?

What's the matter, what's the meaning when nothing's as it seems?

Sit down at the table now, there's a reason, there's a breive

(You would never know it)

Even those who are yet to go are shivers in your grief"

~Beta Radio

I don't emerge until well into the afternoon. Derek doesn't have to ask; he just averts his eyes and pushes a cup of coffee towards me. Karina on the other hand pesters me about everything she can latch on to; how I slept too long, how I won't respond, why I'm not eating, why there's bags under my eyes and my cheeks are red. I'm able to ignore her, keeping my head tucked between my knees despite her complaints about how it's rude to have your legs up at the table. Only when she comments on the scratches on my arms do I look up at her. _Tacky_ , she calls them, " _no wonder Lucille has to spend so much time getting you ready if this is how you take care of yourself_."

I wrap my hands tightly around the mostly empty coffee cup. One more word and I'll hurl the damn thing at her head. I don't know if Derek can sense my waning patience or he's just as upset with Karina as I am, but he casts her a cautionary glance and a murmured warning. But, as per usual, she tsks at him, waving her ridiculous hand in the air towards me.

"I'm just saying, she could at least _try_ to make herself presentable-" Karina shrieks when my coffee cup explodes against the wall behind her. I only missed out of exhaustion and lingering tears in my eyes. Still, the remnants of the coffee and shards of the mug have fallen over her.

I rise to my feet, my legs shaking threateningly. With my jaw clenched, I glare at her, willing my eyes to burn a hole right through her pathetic head. "Shut up" I hiss "shut up, shut up, shut up!" my voice shrieks, seemingly detached from my own body. My face is hot and my hands are shaking violently. "Don't say another fucking word," I gasp for breath "or I swear to God next time it's your head."

Karina's face is contorted into a mixture of shock and terror. She clutches the edge of the table, like she might be able to use it as defense for when I come at her. But, of course, I don't. I slam my hand down on the table and push back my chair, storming back to my room.

I don't leave, let alone speak to anyone, until Lucille and my prep team arrive an hour later to get me ready for my interview. Karina must have warned them because they're extra cautious not to say anything. if they only knew I was focusing too much on not succumbing to the fire burning through my veins to even hear what they were saying.

Caesar must think I'm catatonic during the interview. I have to ask him to repeat himself for nearly every question then, when I understand, my answers are vague and short. I'm hoping I appear more apathetic or even rude than stupid. It's when President Snow makes his appearance do I finally snap to attention. I clench my fists together to lock my jaw in place to keep from throwing myself at him and wrapping my hands around his meaty neck…. The thought of him dying, of me killing him, is the only thing that lets me look into his eyes.

The party is impossible to enjoy afterwards. It would be a miserable affair _without_ knowing what I had to do in a few hours. Snow did the honor of delivering my _appointment_ himself, as he called it. The paper burns against my skin where I quickly tucked it out of sight. There isn't a free night when I'm in the Capitol.

I'm whisked away within the next hour, dropped into a car and driven across the Capitol. The door to the mansion is pulled open before I'm even halfway up the steps. I hug my coat around me, keeping my face as cool and relaxed as I can as a middle aged man adorned with a body full of tattoos greets me. He has a childlike smile plastered across his face and his fingers twitch with each step I take further into the house.

From a few feet away I can already smell the alcohol wafting off him. He's jittery and laughing and frankly scattered. He downs another full glass of some red liquid before turning to me. His hands clamp down on the side of my arms, gripping so tightly I can already feel the bruises forming. I tense when he tries to kiss me, almost falling over the first time but hitting his mark the second. I try not to gag when he shoves his tongue into my mouth, the acidic taste of whatever he just drank burns against my gums.

His hands are rough and careless as he runs them over me, having no mercy for the dress as he pulls it away. I'm shoved down onto some elaborate bed- couch combination. He mumbles incoherently in my ear, his teeth grazing against my skin. I want to scream, to kick him off me and run until I collapse. But I know that fighting will only make it worse. I want this to end- _need_ it to end as quickly as possible.

Only after a remarkably long time of not getting very far, does he finally get off me. Before he lets me get dressed, he gives me a final, alcohol reeking kiss and a remark about how I should come over again soon. I'm clothed and out the door before he even makes it to his feet.

The rest of the night is spent the same as before. I sob into the floor until I'm too repulsed by my own skin and I shower, raking at my arms, leg, and torso until deep red gashes are visible. Only then do I collapse into bed, sobs shaking the bed so hard it feels like I'm floating.


	30. Chapter 30

"I'll sleep in this place with the lonely crowd;

Lie in the dark where the shadows run from themselves"

~Cream

It's the last night in the Capitol, but for as much relief that brings me, I'm only more terrified of knowing how the night will be spent. It's past time to leave, but I can't bring myself to leave the bathroom. I'm clutching the marble counter like my life depends on it. My reflection blinks slowly back at me. The circles under my eyes don't surprise me, and neither does the dusty bruise on my collarbone. What _does_ surprise me, is how empty I look. If I didn't know better, I'd think the girl starring back at me was dead, her eyes glossy with her last breath. I hiss out a breath a stalk away from my reflection. I'm alive, and for as long as my heart is still beating, I will endure.

The car is waiting for me, as it always is. The ride tonight is short, the mansion only a few blocks outside the city center. My heart hammers in my chest as I approach the door. What will tonight hold? Another drunk? A teenager or an old man? I don't have to ponder for long. He must have been waiting beside the door, readying himself for my knock.

Immediately I know that he's different than the others. He isn't drunk and there's no smile on his face. His eyes are on fire, flickering up and down my body before resting on my face with an unreadable squint. Sweat beads on the back of my neck and I wipe my hands on my thighs. I know the face he's making; I've made it myself. He's not looking at me like I'm some girl he gets to sleep with tonight, he's watching me like a hawk watches a rabbit; he's staring at me like he's the predator, and I'm his prey.

He lets out a quiet breath before crossing his arms over his chest and walking a slow circle around me. I remain tense and still, hyperaware of each sound and movement he makes as he looks at me. He stops behind me, his hand cold as ice when he places it on my shoulder, running his finger along the edge of the dress until he reaches the back of my neck. I clench my hands to keep him from noticing how they're shaking.

"You won't need this," he whispers against my neck, unzipping the dress and nearly ripping it off me. I bite into my lip as he circles back towards me, unwilling to let the exposure of standing in my underclothes make me look any weaker. "Johanna…." He sighs "that's a beautiful name. Why did your parents name you that?"

"I never asked" I say, my voice lacking its normal bite.

He clicks his tongue, seeming actually disappointed. "Let's take a walk" he says, his arm hovering over my back until I reluctantly follow him. He leads me to a grand room, a massive fireplace crackling against the far wall and, hung above it, two razor sharp axes. I swallow tightly, my gaze lingering on the weapons.

"I thought you'd like them" he says, though when I look over at him, he's staring right at me. He takes a step forward and although my fear is nearly choking me, I hold my ground. "So strong," he murmurs, "so brave… You're not like the others, you know- the other Victors. They're all so weak and vain" he spits. "But not you," he rubs the back of his hand against my cheek, letting it wander down to my jaw, and stopping against my neck. "Look at me" he says softly. But I don't. I know if I look at him then he'll see my fear and once he sees it, there's no denying it. I keep my jaw locked and look straight ahead, relieved that I'm keeping my composure. "Look at me" he barks, moving his face even closer to mine.

The slap comes from nowhere, sending me backwards into the wall. I blink away the white spots that dance in my vision. In my surprise, he has a chance to advance towards me. I feel the hand on my neck before I see it. I instinctively grab his arm, digging my nails into the soft skin of his wrist but his grip doesn't loosen. That's when I look at him. A smile has spread across his face, mutilating his expression into one that makes the panic burst forth.

He's going to kill me. It's the only thought that makes sense. I swing out with my leg, kicking his thigh. He grunts softly and presses his body against mine, pinning me completely against the wall. I gasp, though it sounds more like a gurgle from beneath the fist wrapped around my throat. I can still breath, but I feel like I'm choking. The tips of his fingers press against my jaw, sending waves of pain up into my head.

With one hand around my neck, he keeps my legs pressed against the wall while his free hand tears at my underclothes, ripping them free instantly. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the pain when he pulls off his own clothes and his hand returns to my throat. I whimper, sounding more like a kicked puppy than an actual living person. A searing pain shoots down my spine, burning my skin to a crisp as it travels down from my skull to my feet. My eyes flash open and I gasp for air. He's going to kill me. I'm going to _die_.

The shriek comes involuntarily. When I look back at my assailant, he isn't some primed Capitol man with murderous eyes; it's Hubert, blood gushing from the slit in his neck, rage and dirt caking his face, so impossibly alive. I let go of the hands around my throat, this time reaching forward towards his face. My nails dig into his check and I can see the bloody marks. He hisses in pain but the rage induced smile only broadens. His hands tighten, giving me only enough air to stay conscious. This is revenge and he's going to make me suffer for what I did to him. I look up at him, his face contorting between the man from the Capitol and Hubert, never staying the same for more than a second.

In his distraction I'm able to free one of my legs, giving me just enough room to jerk my knee into his groin. His eyes widen and his grip loosens just enough that I'm able to get free. But even in his pain he won't let me go. I manage only two awkward side steps away before he locks an iron grip around my arm, pulling my back towards him, face contorted with rage and contorted into a vicious scowl.

This time I kick his bare stomach, sending him stumbling backwards. I don't care about killing him- I've already done that once. I'm not brave or courageous or anything anyone thinks I am. So I run. I disappear from the axe decorated fireplace and sprint towards the door, only barely wrapping my coat around me, which I scoop off the floor, before skipping the cement steps and throwing myself into the back seat of the car. I plead for the driver to go, which he does and with my head turned over my shoulder, I never even see the door open after me.

I pull my knees up to my chest, trying to swallow down the terror that still has me shaking. The whole world seems to spin, made only worse by the car's movements through the city. I dig my fingernails into the skin around my knees, focusing on the pricks of pain, gritting my jaw together as tightly as I can until I can pick my head up without my stomach lurching.

I stumble out of the car when it stops outside the training center. The driver gives me a worried look, like he should be walking me back to my room, but I wave him off. I lean against the wall in the elevator, silently flipping through the names of the tributes as I rise up to my floor. It doesn't make me feel any better, but it gives me something to focus on.

This can't be real. This all has to be some horrible, twisted dream, right? Though the pain surging over me tells me it isn't. I bite into my cheek and pray with every ounce of my strength that I'll wake up in the morning and I'll be home and I'll never have been called at the reaping. Or better yet, The Hunger Games is some twisted thing I created in my head. That would be best. Something, I need _something_. This can't be it. This can't be real.

My heartbeat begins to slow once I get back to my room. I don't think I have the energy to shower tonight, even though the desire to pull of my skin is stronger than ever before. I drop my coat on the floor, not bothering to find any clothes before climbing into bed and wrapping the blankets tightly around me. My hand makes its way to the necklace at my throat instinctively. The two charms that hang there now are all I have to protect me. They're the one thing to tether me back to reality. Hubert is dead, he's been dead since I kiledl him six months ago. The dreams aren't real; the terror is a memory. But it doesn't help me now, against the horrors of reality. Nothing can protect me from the men like the one I just ran from; nothing can protect me from Snow or the constant reminder that I'm no longer a part of the Games- the Games are a part of me.

I fall asleep slowly, grateful for the mind numbing bliss of unconsciousness. Just before that moment though, where you completely lose hold on the world, Snow's words slither into my head. _Ms. Mason, do you love your family?_

All at once the air rushes from my lungs and a new kind of terror emerges. Did I just kill my family?


	31. Chapter 31

"We are the voiced you never heard

We are the fire you never let burn"

~New Politics

When I wake up, or rather, get up, as I didn't actually sleep for the hours I lied there, I waste no time leaving the cursed room behind me. I get to go home today. Any second spent here is too long. The sooner I'm on the train the sooner I can forget the last two weeks, and the sooner I'll see my family.

Snow surely won't have them killed for last night. I'll still comply, I'll still be a prostitute he can whore out to the whole damn country. He won't kill them unless I refuse. That's what he said. He said I just had to do as he ordered and they'd be fine. Didn't he?

I resolve myself into pretending it never happened, into acting like last night was nothing worth mentioning. As soon as I emerge into the front room where Derek is already sitting with a steaming cup of coffee, I know I've already failed. His eyes immediately fall to my neck, making my fingers nervously rise to the site. Even a small amount of pressure makes me flinch. Well, so much for secrecy. I refuse to look Derek in the eye as I cross to the other side of the table and fall into a chair. He'll have to ask, because I'm not saying anything. He doesn't, though. Instead he waves down an avox to bring me my own coffee along with a chocolate muffin. I appreciate that about Derek; he knows when to keep his mouth shut. I can't stop myself from peering at him through the steam of the coffee. Has this ever happened to him? Does he know what this is like?

"I'm not going to asks," he sighs, leaning his elbows against the table. "But, if you want, Karina can help cover those. If you ask."

I purse my lips and run my fingertips over the bruises that I'm sure must be serious by the way Derek looks at them. It almost makes me laugh, thinking of going to Karina for help, but I realize it might be better. If my family sees them then they'll know something's wrong, and I can't let that happen. I replicate his sigh and nod slightly, picking the muffin to crumbs.

Derek was right, as usual. Karina seems shocked by my willingly speaking to her, but she immediately agrees upon sight of the bruises. I know she's curious, but for the first time in her life she holds her tongue. After eating as much as I can bear, I let her take me into the bathroom and show me which makeup to use to make the bruises disappear. She finds a bag somewhere, which she tells me to use to bring the makeup home with me. I mumble a quiet thanks, starring at my reflection with some mixture of awe and fury. I'm amazed at how flawless my skin looks- you'd never know that purple and yellow bruises rise from my collarbone up past my jaw. I debate only for a moment washing the makeup away and letting the cameras see the bruises. Maybe then people will figure out what's going on and Panem will riot, stopping the whole fucking thing. It's wishful and childish but I can't deny that some part of me deep down wills it to be true. But in the end, I decide to keep the makeup. Hopefully nothing like this will ever happen again. Snow would just come up with a story anyway and, as per usual, everyone would believe him. Then he'd punish me for it.

I curl up in the same seat as the first time I went home. I hold myself together, my knees hugged to my chest and my arms wrapped around them. The first time I did this I could hardly sit still, and now it's even an effort to breathe. I could sleep for the next few hours Derek tells me, but I'm afraid to close my eyes; I can already feel the nightmares creeping up on me, just waiting for me to put my guard down. Even now I can picture them, evil eyes looming in front of me, hands around my throat, forcing me, _raping me_.

Even with my eyes open I find myself dreaming. Their faces flicker behind my eyes, one after another until each of their smiles are burned into my eyelids. The comfort at knowing I'll be home, with Lily and Cam to keep the nightmares away, my father to keep me sane during the day, Vinny to remind me that it's over, that what I did to survive doesn't define me…. It feels too good to be true.

They'll all be waiting, just as I'm waiting for them. It never truly hit me that I have people who care for me as much as I care for them. I've only ever been so focused on protecting _them_ , the I've been blind to them protecting _me_. It's a new feeling, but it brings me solace.

At some point the gentle rocking of the train over takes me, and I give in to the exhaustion. I'm woken by Derek gently shaking my shoulder, making me flinch in surprise. No nightmare, I realize instantly. Maybe I was too tired, or maybe they decided to give me a moment's break from their everlasting torment.

"We'll be there in a minute" Derek says. He hovers over me, his eyes searching my face for an answer to unasked question.

"What?" I grumble, stretching out my legs from being curled up for nearly the entirety of the train ride.

He hesitates, his mouth hanging open for a moment as his eyes scan over my now bruiseless neck. I want to cover it from view, hold my hands over the makeup and force him to stop looking. Instead, I sit there, staring back at him, growing ever more tense as the seconds tick by. I look back at him, daring him to say something, refusing to hide.

"I wish I could protect you" he sighs. I bite my lip. His eyes are so sad. It's a look I've seen thousands of times- the broken, exhausted face of someone who's seen too much, done too much, and can't take it anymore. I want to ask him if it's the Games that made him like this, or if he never even had a chance. It's probably a mixture of both, very few people have it lucky from the start in the districts.

I brush my fingers through my hair, tearing through a few tangles before giving up and rising to my feet. "I can protect myself" I say, pushing past my mentor.

I head straight to the door, Derek trailing slowly after me. As soon as we stop moving I'll jump from the train if I have to. I'm done, I can forget about everything for a few months. The thought of going home, eating dinner with my family, Lily sleeping beside me, Vinny's arms around me… it's enough to make me smile just from the idea. District 7 has always been my cage, my prison, but now it's my retreat, the only place I'm okay.

It feels like ages- definitely more than a couple minutes, before the train slows and comes to a steady stop. I'm out the door, my feet crunching against the frozen dirt before it's even fully open. I don't make it more than two steps before slamming to a stop.

No one's here. Derek's wife stands to the side, but aside from her there isn't a soul in sight.

It's like a punch to my gut. I can feel the air disappear from my lungs, rushing out my throat until I'm left suffocating under the cloudy sky.

"Johanna?" I hear Derek ask from somewhere behind me, but his voice is little more than a buzz over the rising static.

 _They aren't here_.

My feet start moving before my brain catches up. I start at a walk, quickly turning into a jog and then a full out sprint. There has to be a reason they aren't here. Maybe someone got sick, or my father had to work and wouldn't let Lily and Cam come on their own. But wouldn't Vinny bring them? Maybe he has to work too…. As much as I try to rationalize it, the growing stone in my gut pulls at the truth.

I stop dead in the middle of the road when I notice what's wrong. I'm headed towards Victor's Village, but to the right a column of gray smoke is billowing, the smell of charred wood already hitting me. It could be anything, it could be anyone, but I know it isn't. it's never _someone else_.

I will my feet to move faster, to fly if they must. I've never ran so fast. My lungs are screaming with the effort, my muscles begging me to slow, but I push them all the harder. It's when I round the final corner do I slow, stopping in front of the smoking remains of my family's home.

Hardly any of it's left. There's two walls, both as black as the night sky. Everything else is ash; the roof, the floor, the walls, the furniture inside… There's nothing. _Nothing_. There's Peacekeepers, at least five of them, putting out the last of the flames around the where the front door used to stand. One of them notices me, standing still as a statue, my face pale and wilted in horror.

"Johanna Mason?" he asks like he doesn't already know. "There was an accident at your home. I'm very sorry but your family has perished in the fire." _Of course there was an accident you blind buffoon_ , I want to scream at him, but my mouth just hangs open, breathing in the scent of the ashes. "Did you hear me?" he asks, sounding incredibly bored.

My mouth closes, then opens again, then closes. The words hang in my throat, not able to come out. "They're dead" I whisper, not so much a question as an affirmation.

"Yes. They've all perished. I'm very sorry" the Peacekeeper confirms.

I finally tear my eyes away from my home, turning to the Peacekeeper. He looks at me cautiously, his eyes exhausted and bored. Rage ignites me in an inferno, tearing from limb to limb, cell to cell. An awful shriek escapes from me as I shove him back. I see him startle and the other Peacekeepers snap to attention, but I don't care. He did this. They did this. With my jaw clenched, I shove him again, and again, until I see him reach for the baton at his hip.

"Hit me" I growl. His hand hesitates. "Do it!" I add, screaming.

But he doesn't. someone grabs me, hands firm on my arms, pulling me away. I scream, pulling away, but I can't. Suddenly the Peacekeepers are out of sight and I'm once again facing the charred remains of my whole life.

I squeeze my eyes shut, hardly feeling the impact as I fall to my knees. The scream that erupts from my throat is animalistic, so filled with agony that it would scare me normally, if I could feel anything else than the boulder crashing down on my shoulders.

I shouldn't have done it. It's all my fault. I should have let him hurt me. I should have let him _kill_ me. I knew this was going to happen. I should have gotten them out of here, ran from the District, lived in the woods. _Something_.

The arms tighten around me, pulling me in towards a torso. I don't even care enough to see who it is. A body-racking sob overtakes me, sounding more like another scream than anything else. This wasn't supposed to happen. I did what he wanted, I did everything he said. They were supposed to be alive- this was never supposed to happen.

"No, no, no, no, no," I mutter over and over again, hoping each time I open my eyes the scene will be different. "No, no, no-" this _isn't_ real.

Someone says my name, a voice that pulls me out of my stupor only for a moment. _Vinny_. He's still alive. I sob in relief and shock. _He's alive_. I dig my fingers into his shirt, holding him as tightly as I can as I sob into his neck. This has to be a dream.

"Johanna" Vinny whispers, his arms wrapped so tightly around me. "I'm so sorry."

I suck in a sharp breath. Vinny doesn't put up any resistance when I pull away from him, wiping the tears from the eyes so I can look between him and the charred remains of my family. "What happened?" I ask, my voice hardly rising above a whisper.

He shakes his head, rubbing has hands over his legs. "I don't know; I just saw the smoke but when I got here…. I'm so sorry Jo, they were already gone."

I choke at the words. _Gone_. How can they be gone? I jump to my feet so fast I can see Vinny flinch. "No!" I scream. "No, no, no, no, this isn't possible. This wasn't supposed to happen!" I'm shaking so hard I can't keep still "I did what he said! I did everything!" The words are lost behind my grief- shattered in my screams and sobs.

Vinny's arms are back, trying to hold on to me but I push him off, stumbling away from him. "Don't!" I screech, holding my arms out defensively. They'll kill him too. If they killed my family, they'll kill him, they'll kill everyone. Each step Vinny takes towards me, I take one backwards. I'll kill him- it'll be all my fault. "Don't touch me."

He doesn't understand- he can't understand. His hand brushes against my arm but I yank it away, another sob making me grit my teeth through the agony. "You have to go" I sob, tucking my arms around myself.

"What?" he asks, his eyes furrowed in confusion and distress. "Jo, what are you-?" he starts to ask but I can't let him finish.

"Go away!" I scream. "Leave!" He looks afraid, not trying to come towards me anymore, just standing there looking at me with his mouth open in confusion.

A hand clamps down on my shoulder, which I rip free from as soon as I feel it. I turn, hesitating when I see Derek, huffing with exertion. I only cry harder when I see him. He's in as much danger as I am. I let him hold me, falling into him as he takes Vinny's place. I know Vinny's talking, but his voice is just a buzzing in my ears. Derek says something to him but I can't understand it. I close my eyes, desperately trying to forget, or pretend, or do _something_ other than imagine my family- Lily, Cam, my father, burning to death, screaming, not knowing why it's happening.

"Come on, let's go home" Derek says to me. I have no idea how many times he's said it, or for how long he's been trying to coax me to move. I peel my eyes open, pushing away from him, shrugging his arms away. Vinny is still standing there, looking completely terrified now. I don't say anything to him, I don't even look at him. Instead I look at my home, where I grew up, where my whole family lived and died. It's not fair. _It's not fair_.

Derek steps towards me, his arm reaching out to grab me by the elbow, but I pull away before he catches me. "I can walk" I spit.

It feels so wrong, walking away from the burnt remains. My breath lingers in my chest, not wanting to escape and face the bitter cold of the world outside. Each step I take makes my head ring as if I were hollow, my heart rolling around empty in my chest. It doesn't feel real. I could be walking on the clouds for as much as I feel the ground beneath my feet. I'm a ghost, drifting over the world waiting for something, for anything, to make me whole again.


	32. Chapter 32

"No explanation will matter after we begin

My true vocation, and now my unfortunate friend

You will discover a war you're unable to win"

~Disturbed

I'm able to stem my tears during the enteral walk to my new, and only home. I can still smell the smoke, long after the wind has blown it away and the distance has given it a chance is disappear. I stand swaying in the doorway, blinking into the dark corners that at one point held light and laughter. I wait, holding my breath, half hoping to hear footsteps on the stairs or a giggle from the kitchen. But there's only silence- heavy, burdensome silence. They are not here. They'll never be here again.

 _They're dead_. I know it's true, but the words won't sink in.

Derek comes up behind me, lingering at my side. His wife is there too, her face concerned and motherly. "Johanna" he mumbles, "what do you need?"

"That's a stupid question" I mutter.

I bite into my check and push past him. The kitchen is dark, the last of the evening light streaming in through the windows. There's food and plates strewn over the counters, now dried milk crusted over the floor, the cup that used to contain it on its side. No one tried to clean up- to make it look like my family wasn't whisked away to be killed. I can see it; Peacekeepers barging in, grabbing them where they stand, ignoring the screams and terror and confusion. Maybe they killed them before lighting the house of fire- put a bullet in their heads before burning their bodies. Or maybe they knocked them out or tied them up, letting them feel the agony of their flesh melting from their bones. I clench my hands together, listening to my heartbeat echo in my ears, penetrating the silence that surrounds me.

"Johanna" Derek calls.

I stand still- eerily still. His tall and slouched form moves around me, stopping with a quiet intake of breath. They aren't sobs anymore, but there's something even more agonizing about the slow, silent tears rolling down my cheeks.

"Why?" I ask, my voice breaking. I can feel the instant my legs give out, sending me to the floor where I land in a crumpled heap. Everything feels broken, like I've shattered into a million pieces. I hug my arms to my chest, the moans making my chest vibrate. They were all that was left- of my life, of my family, of _me_. There were all that was left and now they're gone and I can feel myself disappearing with them. I tried, I did. But it wasn't enough. It's never enough.

For a long, painful moment, I wish I were dead too. I should have died in the Games, then I wouldn't have to suffer any of this. My heart only beats harder in response, each movement reminding me of how very alive I am. It's mocking me, keeping me trapped in my overwhelming aliveness. Why won't it just stop? It can just beat faster and faster until it bursts- let it explode and leave me to bleed out. I can't stand this agony any more, how much longer must I suffer this torment?

I feel arms take hold of me. They feel safe. They feel like peace despite the anguish. He doesn't say anything; he knows there's isn't anything he could say to make me feel better. I feel weak, as fragile as a doll in Derek's arms, crying against his chest as he holds steady. What he said earlier is true: he can't protect me, but he can least try to keep the horrors at bay. He's a Victor too. As much as I forget, he understands, he knows what it means to feel pain.

At some point there's just no tears left to cry, but that doesn't mean I don't feel the loss any less. Adele, Derek's wife, comes in at some point and busies herself cleaning the last remnants of my family's deaths. She murmurs quietly, though I'm not sure if she's talking to me or Derek.

I have no idea how long I sit there letting Derek hold me. Adele finishes the cleaning, and the last rays of the sun disappear. I put up no resistance when I'm hauled to my feet; I don't have any resistance to give. He leads me upstairs, following my vague directions to my room. I don't care that he lays me in bed, pulling the blankets up to my chin before sitting beside my feet. My eyes burn each time I blink, feeling like thousands of pins are pricking my eyes.

At some point I fall asleep. I don't remember Derek leaving, but when I wake up there's only an impression of where he sat. I don't have any idea what time it is, with no indication other than the sun still hasn't risen. I roll over, not surprised to find the pillow damp with tears. I don't resist falling asleep again.

The next time I wake it's day and, for just a second, I'm not being weighed down with my family's deaths. When it hits me, it hits like a train, crushing the air from my lungs and snapping my sternum into needle-like shards. The sobs rack my body, making breathing an effort between each gasp. Adele rushes in, calling for Derek, who, with his wife's assistance, try to calm me down enough to where I can fall back asleep and start the whole routine over when I wake.

I don't know if it's been hours or days or even weeks of me lying in bed, unable to speak or stand or do anything more than feel the pain crashing into me. What I do know is that now I'm awake and someone's hands are stroking my hair. I assume it's Adele; she's very maternal, usually sitting somewhere within sight whenever I'm awake. Still remaining curled into a ball, I let my head roll to the side. I breathe in sharply when I notice that it isn't Adele sitting beside me, it isn't even Derek. It's Vinny, his free hand held over his face, massaging his temples. He doesn't look up when I move, just lets his hand settle back in the tangles of my hair.

My first thought is to scream- demand he leaves and never come back. I can't hurt him too, if he dies then so will I. As much as I need him to be safe, I can't stop from reaching out and wrapping my hand around his. He startles, his bright eyes latching on to mine. I'm selfish, I know that, but I hurt too much to care. I stay quiet, biting into my tongue to keep from crying. I pull his hand from the top of my head down towards my face, holding onto it tightly just in front of my lips. "Why are you here?" I whisper, my voice scratching through each word.

Vinny watches me curiously, the uncertainty obvious in his face. He breathes quietly for a long time before leaning forward to answer. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asks. "I want to make sure you're okay." His voice is soft and gentle, like a warm blanket wrapping around me, and yet I can't keep from flinching at the sound.

He falls silent, waiting for me to say or do anything. I just lie there, holding onto his hand like it's my last tether to the Earth, which, in a way, it is. His voice shifts suddenly, from calm and soothing to solid and cold. "I don't know what happened," he states. "I came as soon as I smelled the smoke but…. The Peacekeepers didn't want anyone getting close. They wouldn't let us _help_. I don't understand why they were even there. I'm so sorry Jo- I should have done more"

I don't know if he means the Peacekeepers or my family, both don't make sense, but I know better. "It's not your fault" I murmur. My heart clenches in my chest, writhing with agony when I remember that night in the Capitol, the hands wrapped around my throat, my nails digging into his face… I shouldn't have done anything. I should have let him strangle me, rape me, kill me. They would be alive right now and I'd be dead and everything would be how it should.

He lets out a long breath. "I could hear them screaming" he says. "The Peacekeepers weren't doing anything and they wouldn't let anyone help… I should have done something. I could've-" his voice breaks, not like he's going to cry or scream, but like he's been defeated and is just giving up. "I just fought with the Peacekeepers instead of helping. I hate that I did that. I hate myself Jo; I understand if you hate me too."

My voice is quiet, as close to gentle as I've ever heard it get. "It's not your fault" I repeat, willing him to believe it. There was never anything he could have done without being killed himself.

"It is" he says. I move my hand down to his wrist, leaning into him when he rubs his thumb over my cheek. "I told you I would take care of them. I told you I'd protect them" his voice trembles and I have to squeeze his wrist to make him look back down at me. "I helped bury them" he says. "I tried to come here… but Derek said you couldn't come. But I was there when they were buried. I was with them the whole time."

I bite my cheek hard- enough to draw blood. I can't let him blame himself. I sit up slowly, my head complaining at the sudden movement after days of lying still. "Stop" I beg. I suck in a breath, willing my voice to stay steady, my face to stay still. "It wasn't an accident." It's the only words I can say. It's my fault. Snow did this.

"What do you mean?" he asks. He moves his arm across my shoulders, holding me tightly to him.

"It wasn't an accident" I say again. I chew on the inside of my lip, starring hollow eyed at the floor. Telling him the truth would be cruel. But he can't believe this was his fault. It isn't even truly my fault- it's Snows. He's the one who threatened them. He's the one who gave the order. "Just trust me" I whisper, pleading with him silently.

Would it be better to tell him? That way I could at least give him a choice. Would Snow even care, though? Would he hesitate to kill Vinny even if I never saw him again after today? I don't think he would. But for now, he is the one selfish indulgence I'll allow myself. There will not be another mistake.

I lean my head against his, closing my eyes to breathe in the scent of him, letting my sorrow pull me into him. He wants to argue, tell me to explain what I mean, but he isn't given the chance. I turn my face towards him, letting my lips brush his neck before abruptly pulling away and throwing the blankets off me. I get to my feet, standing there in the center of the room for a minute, not quite sure what I mean to do. Vinny stands at my side, the same thought seemingly running through his head.

So, not knowing what else to do, I turn to him. I'm not even sure what I'm doing until I wrap my arms around him, pulling him as close to me as I can. Tears burn in my eyes, making me only twist my hands even tighter in his shirt.

I can feel his muscles stiffen but, after a few seconds, he relaxes. His fingers wrap in my hair, his other hand pressing between my shoulder blades, holding me as tightly as I hold him.

I hold on for a long time, knowing that as soon as I let go, I'll have to look away and feel the crushing _emptiness_ of the world around me. "I love you, Vinny" I whisper against him.

His chest moves with a breath and I can feel him lean his head against mine. "I love you too." For whatever reason, his words make it harder to keep the tears from creeping forth. When it comes down to it, with my family dead, he's all that's left. And that's something almost too painful to face.

I can't look at him any longer and pull away. For the first time in days, the sadness is ebbing way, making room for the rage racing through my veins. Derek and Adele look shocked to see me walk into the kitchen. I hardly even look at them. This isn't just unfair- it's cruel. It's a deliberate act of malice meant to kick me into submission. Well I'll show them submission. I won the Games once, I can do it again.

Derek says something to Vinny, but I only hear muffled buzzing. I should send them away. I should lock myself in this house and never come out except when I have to. I would do it, too, but I realize they're already on borrowed time. As long as I'm alive and as long as Snow wants me, none of their lives are safe. Simply knowing me is enough to get them killed, so I'm going to cling to them until one of us is gone.

My hands are shaking so hard that I can't even pry the lid away from the coffee beans. The three of them watch me struggle, knowing better than to offer help. Right now I'm more unstable than a bomb. One wrong word and I'll explode; then there's no saying what could happen. Maybe I'll go crazy like Annie- then maybe Snow will leave me alone. Or maybe he'll just kill me.

I push away the container with a cry. I turn around and lean against the counter, tears streaming down my face just when I thought there was nothing left to cry. I look at them each in turn, Derek, Adele, Vinny; each face sad and sympathetic and angry; the last people left in the world.


	33. Chapter 33

"Everything I, have ever been made of, hates who I am

I'm so glad you waited, can't get my mind,

Off how you could love me, I'm so behind,

You're so far above me,

And you'll always be

The wind under my wings, above me"

~Thousand Foot Krutch

The headache that forms never goes away. It'll get better for a while, and it'll get worse. It's maddening, but I cling to the ache because without it, I'm afraid I'll be so empty that nothing could ever fill me again. I am the only one left to feel this pain, so I will carry it with me until I'm buried in the graveyard in the spot already reserved for me.

I spent a long time in the graveyard, just sitting at the foot of their graves. It's comforting, sitting there. It's as close as I feel to them- the closest I can get to hearing their voices and seeing their faces. Even in death they're here for me, ready to hold me together when I'm too close to falling apart.

It kills me each night, knowing why they died. Amidst my nightmares of blood and gore and terror, they've arrived, asking what they did wrong, asking why I couldn't save them. I wish I knew. I wish I could tell them but all I can say is "I'm sorry. I was scared." It's not good enough but it's all I have to offer.

My mother comes to me in the early morning, reminding me of my promises to her on her deathbed. I failed her- I let her family, her precious children, her loving husband, die. I murdered them and because of that, I let her down. Even through her anger I can feel the primal instinct of a child yearning for its mother, but each time I get close to her, she disappears, leaving me to stew in the loneliness of my own head.

More than the others though, I sit at Jonathan grave- my protective, kind, perfect older brother. I should have died that day in the lumber yard. Nothing would have fallen apart like this if he were alive. His nightmares are the worst. He always does the same thing. He stands in the arena, snow shimmering its perfect whiteness around him. It comes from nowhere, the axe that buries itself in his throat. He falls onto his knees, choking on his own blood, all the while screaming at me. I am a failure. You should have died. You deserve to die. We're all dead because of you. _This is all your fault_. _You are a failure_.

The sound of my own screams pull me awake. The blood is stained into my vision, dripping down the walls and spilling onto the bed. Vinny's hands are on my arms, desperately trying to wake me. "Johanna!" he calls "wake up! It's just a dream." He looks terrified when I turn to him. He has no idea what haunts me every night.

Gently, like I might break, he pulls me against him. He's taken to sleeping with me, partly so Derek and Adele don't feel obligated to stay, but also because without Lily, there's no one else to bring me back to reality when the nightmares come. I let him hold me, kiss my forehead, run his fingers through my hair, but there's no stopping the ice cold terror that grips me. I wish I could tell him- he's asked dozens of times, but there's some things I must keep to myself if I want to keep him safe.

He's still there in the morning. I lie there awake for hours, watching the sky turn from black to blue until sun dapples over the floor. Vinny is so peacefully asleep, his eyelids flawless, his lips slightly parted… I could laugh at the perfection of it. This has always been what I wanted but I never knew it would cost so much.

I slowly ease myself away from him, making sure he doesn't wake as I free myself from the blankets and ease off the mattress. I hesitate on my feet, lingering in the doorway for a long time before disappearing into the hall. My feet are silent as I descend the stairs, rounding the corner so that I stand alone in the sun filled kitchen. After so much time it still doesn't feel like home. I don't know if I'll ever have one again- a home. It takes a lot more than just four walls to know you belong somewhere.

I pick up one of the glasses left on the counter overnight. It's empty, but it's weight is immense for something so small. I rub my thumb over its clear surface, pressing my back against the counter top where only a few weeks ago- has it really been weeks? - milk had spilled down the counter, left to sour and dry while my family was burned to death.

It should hurt, right? Picturing Peacekeepers barging in and dragging them away. I should feel something- anything, when I think about those horrible last seconds of their lives- but I don't. I've persevered through the agony and now there's nothing left but a hollow, numb shell. Sure, I could break into sobs at any moment, but even then the pain feels fake, like I'm only forcing it onto myself to feel normal, to feel anything at all.

A wave of anger surges over me, momentarily cutting through the numbness to send flames of searing rage into my veins. So this is who I've become, just another kicked dog in the long line waiting at the feet of President Snow. He did this to me. He made me into this. In the glass in my hand I can see my reflection, a scowling, broken, worthless girl. With a screech I hurtle the glass against the far wall, feeling no satisfaction when it shatters into a thousand pieces.

I stand there for a moment, the sound of the collision ringing in my ears. Slowly I move my feet, one after another on the cold wooden floor towards the glass's remains. With almost laughable precision, I kneel amongst the shards and scoop it into my outstretched palm. I look over towards the trash can but that's as close as I get to throwing the pieces away.

Do I even exist anymore? Am I really even living when I can't even feel sad for killing my family? Maybe that's my punishment. Maybe the world is laughing at me, kicking me back down each time I try to rise. _You deserve this, Johanna. You deserve to be punished_. _You're a monster. You're a failure. You aren't even human. You're worthless. You're disgusting. This is_ all your fault.

My hand has curled around the glass without me noticing. I flinch in surprise when Vinny appears behind me, looking confused and shocked. I don't look at him any more than in acknowledgment. Peeling my hand open I can see the scarlet drops of blood welling, pooling together before dripping between my fingers onto the floor. I never even felt the pain.

Vinny pulls me away, leading me over to the sink where he presses a towel into my palm to soak up the blood rushing from the dozens of jagged cuts. I know he's watching me, waiting for me to look at him so he can ask what happened, but I don't. I don't offer an explanation; it doesn't matter anyway. More than the pain, I feel ashamed. I stare down at my hand, watching as the towel turns to red while Vinny cleans the rest of the glass away.

Vinny, Derek, and Adele have taken on the unnecessary responsibility of babysitting me. Whenever Vinny has to go to work, I find myself with Derek hovering over me, or sitting in their kitchen as Adele bakes something or another. They've even enlisted some of the other Victors into trying to help me. Blight is friendly enough, though he's quiet. William is old and sullen, which is more my style, but wherever he goes, so does his loud, babbling family. The only one who never tries to talk to me is William. He never leaves his house, let's his daughters and their husbands do any shopping he needs. Whenever I see him his just watches me, his eyes dark and full of thoughts I can't begin to decipher. Despite Derek's warnings, I always stare back, funneling my anger towards him. Why should he be so lucky? Family and joy in every corner of his life, while I'm left with nothing.

Some days are better than others. Sometimes I'll feel almost normal- meaning there's less of an ache in my chest and I don't have the urge to gouge out anyone's eyes when they dare talk to me. But some days I can't even get myself out of bed, forcing Derek or Adele or Vinny to just sit there in silence, letting me float away in my own head. Then, sometimes, I get mad. Those are the worst days, when I yell and scream and curse at anyone and everything. I say things I don't mean, but mostly I say things that ring in my head all day that I never let get out. They never get mad at me for it, mostly just nodding and taking the abuse I throw at them. I wish they'd scream back at me, tell me how horrible I am, and just leave me alone. But they never do. They're too good. Better than me.

I don't even know what day it is anymore. I live in the time between when I'm sleeping, which is all too often and seemingly not enough all at once. All I do know is that I'm sitting on Derek's couch, hugging my knees to my chest while Derek watches me quietly. He's on the opposite couch, though I could reach out and touch him if I wanted to. When we're alone like this it's easy to get lost in my thoughts. Adele isn't here to speak to me and Vinny isn't around, playing with my hair and otherwise talking to me. I don't have a distraction, which means I'm drowning.

I look up at Derek, meeting his almost identical brown eyes. He isn't looking at me, though his eyes meet mine. I know that gaze all too well, the one that peers back into your mind, replaying memories for you over and over and over again.

I don't know anything about his Games. If I've ever seen them on T.V., I don't remember them. They must have been boring compared to Capitol standards, but that doesn't mean it was any less scarring for him. He's a killer just like me, he's seen people die, and he knows what it feels like to be alive when you should be dead twenty-three times over.


	34. Chapter 34

"On my own I'm only

Half of what I could be

I can't do without you

We are stitched together

And what love has tethered

I pray we never undo"

~Blake Shelton

It takes months but over time I feel less and less like a ghost, floating through the hours between waking and sleeping, and more like a living person. I can feel again- happiness, love, laughter; with it comes the pain, still as soul crushingly devastating, but more bearable knowing that I'll have a respite of pure humanity. I find myself laughing at Adele's terrible stories and my stomach growling at the smell of her cooking which is too good to measure. I can roll my eyes at Derek's attempts to be fatherly and still feel the respect I have for him. I feel alive, as much as I can anyway.

But Vinny is how I know I'm truly awake again. Granted, he's comes around less often now that I'm not under twenty-four-seven supervision; he does have a job and family to attend to and I'd never keep him from them. Still, whenever he's not at work or with his sisters, he's with me. It feels so normal for him to be here, like we've been together forever, which, in a way, we have. We'd been friends for years, taking care of each other when push came to shove. Only once I returned home did our relationship escalate to something more than friendship, no matter how intimate we'd gotten before. Stolen kisses, secret sex, none of it compared to what we have now. Now I can hardly imagine sleeping without him. That, at least is a constant. No matter how late, he always returns to me at night, to hold me while I sleep, to calm me when the nightmares inevitably come. And on the rare night that he's kept away, Derek camps out here with me.

I'm so eternally grateful for him but more than that, in some deeper part of me, a part that I'm having a harder and harder time keeping pushed away, I think I love him. I come to the conclusion in the middle of a blizzard. His mother and both his sisters are over at my ridiculous mansion. The snow is so deep that we've hardly been able to leave for days.

Vinny's mother bakes goods and makes soup for us to eat and we always have the fire hot and high. But it's late at night when one of Vinny's sisters begins to sing. Almost immediately his mother joins in. The youngest of his sisters jumps to her feet, begging Vinny to dance with her.

I sit on the couch watching, mostly because I don't know their songs and I've never been one to dance. But it's when his other sister jumps up, stealing the young one away does Vinny turn to me. despite my protests he takes my hands, pulling me up and spinning me around. We don't even dance to song sung between breaths and giggles, but just for the fun of it.

I'm terrible, and end up just stepping on his feet and stumbling, but before long, I'm laughing, truly laughing.

With the others occupied, Vinny takes the opportunity for a stolen kiss. "You're beautiful" he says, stealing the smile from my face in shock. No one, outside of my mother, has ever called me that. But before I can say anything, he spins me around again and I all but forget.

In the morning, the four of them trudge back to their cabin. I spend most of the day just sitting in front of the fire, reading some mindless book but really, I think about Vinny.

I jump at the sound of the door opening once the sun begins to dop into evening. I push off the couch, feeling completely stupid when I see that it's just Vinny. He has his thoughtless grin on his face, his eyes lighting up like they do when he sees me standing there. In his hand he's holding a small tin of cookies, the ones his mother makes. He waves them at me, like a boy calling to his dog. His mother used to make them all the time when we were younger, scolding us when we'd sneak away with more than our allotted share. They're delicious, one of my favorite things in the world. Even seeing them brings waves of nostalgia.

My legs move before my mind catches up with it, propelling me towards the irresistible, smiling, cookie-delivering boy in the doorway. He catches me just before I crash into him. My hands hold onto his neck, my lips pressing feverishly into his. I press myself against him, kissing him with all the force I have. I can feel the muscles from years of hard labor under his shirt. The urge to touch him, to feel his skin beneath my fingers makes me impatient, clumsily pulling at the buttons running down his chest. At some point he lets go of the cookies, setting them down on the table beside us, letting his hands wrap around my waist, sneaking under the hem of my shirt so his fingers press into my back. His breath is hot against my face but I don't have a second to pay attention to it. My whole body is on fire with the thought of him, even the fabric of our clothes too much between us.

I groan with frustration at the damn buttons on his shirt that just won't give up their hold. He smiles against my mouth, pulling back to pull the shirt over his head, returning to me as soon as it's gone. My fingers twist in his hair, so determined to pull him ever closer. All the while he smiles, kissing me back with infuriating delight.

"Are you sure?" he asks against my mouth as my hands drop to his pants, my thumbs wrapping around the belt loops. I lean my head back, looking deep into the eyes that stare back at me, so full of desire.

His eyes shine in his unnatural way as I move my hands up to his bare chest. "I love you" I spit out. For a moment I'm filled with doubt. I didn't mean to say it; it just came out. The surprise of it almost makes me stop, my eyes wide with shock. My heart hammers and I almost push away from him.

The smile drops from his face, but his hands remain wrapped around my waist. Then he pulls me back to him, his kiss so desperate, so full of desire that I almost melt beneath him. He's different, his movements more confident, his hands sure, his lips firm. It's like a fire has ignited between us, melting our skin together until we're inhabiting the same body.

I let him pull off my shirt, dropping it to the floor behind me. I keep my arms wrapped around his neck as he lowers his mouth, dragging slow kisses from my lips down to my throat. My head rolls back involuntarily, sucking in breath that just won't fill my lungs enough.

I stop him when he moves back to my lips. No more waiting. I grab him by the hand and pull him after me, leading him up the stairs to my- _our_ room. He smiles all the while I drag him after me, pulling off my pants the moment I reach the room. He laughs at me, a sound that forces a smile of my own. I reach for him, to pull him close, but he beats me to it.

He catches me by my wrists, pushing me backwards onto the bed before climbing on top of me, his lips lingering just out of reach. I run my hands over his back, his shoulders, down to his chest and abdomen before stopping when I hit the rough fabric of his pants. I fumble with the button for a moment, before giving up and tugging at the waistband until he pulls back enough to remove them himself. He hovers over me, his eyes penetrating as they run up my body, stopping at my eyes, where we look at each other with complete adoration. Then, with impatience, he's back on top of me, his hands roughly pulling free the rest of our clothes until there's nothing but each other.

He moves slowly despite the way he digs his fingers into my hair. He wants me, but he's restraining himself, forcing himself to go slow. He kisses me gently, our lips hardly even touching the first time. I arch against him, digging my fingernails into his back to bring him closer to me.

"No," he breathes against me, pulling one of my hands away, encasing it in his against the soft sheets. His fingers intertwine with mine, squeezing my hand even harder when I wrap my legs around his waist.

It's agonizing, feeling the heat from his lips as he kisses my neck, my chest, my stomach and back again. Each place he touches is an inferno, tingling with desire. My head feels like it's going to burst with pleasure, an explosion that'll take both of us down with it. Not even that would make me leave right now. Each time he finishes he starts again, our hunger for each other never satisfied.

I'm so tired, my breaths so ragged, that I don't think I can take it much longer. Sex with Vinny was something I thought I'd never do again, let alone enjoy. When we're both finally too exhausted to continue and he lies beside me, his chest heaving in synch with mine, I find my face settling into a smile. I'm curled against him, our skin touching and fusing together with the heat and sweat.

"I love you, Jo" he whispers, one hand tangled in my hair, the other resting on my neck, his thumb drawing lazy circles on my cheek.

I kiss him one last time, long and slow, before laying my head down on his chest. I love him and he loves me. Maybe I can be happy. Maybe I can be okay. Right now, I am safe, I am happy, and I am so in love. For the first time I can feel hope sparking inside of me. Maybe everything will turn out okay.

From then on I wake up every morning in a tangle of limbs and breath. Vinny always rises before dawn to get to the lumber fields in time, leaving me feeling guilty in the dark until I fall into a fretful sleep for a few more hours. As much as I offer it to him, he won't take any of my money. I tell him he doesn't have to work- or he at least doesn't have to work so much, but he won't hear it. It feels normal, those little arguments that end in eye rolls and loving smiles.

While he's gone, when I'm not sitting at home or with Derek and Adele, I occasionally walk down to the center of the district, weaving my way through shops and stands, carelessly buying whatever catches my eye. I don't really need any of it, but I have the money, and everyone else needs it more than I do, so I might as well spend it.

I'm always back home in the evenings- in Victor's Village at least. Adele had the bright idea of trying to teach me how to cook, but something in my lack of enthusiasm and too many burnt, mushy plates makes her give up quickly. So mostly she cooks for me and Derek, Vinny too on the nights of the week he comes back to me after work.

Only recently did I offer to let his family stay with me- with us. He seemed uncomfortable with the idea, but I went straight to his mother and sisters with the idea. His sisters, ten and twelve, love coming to the Village. The enormous houses and nearly private forests are the perfect playground for them. His mother comes less often, but once she realizes my complete inability to care for myself, she and Adele take turns serving as surrogate mothers for me. They rotate making dinner, baking cookies, cleaning, and generally mothering me. It's annoying sometimes but each time I snap at them I immediately regret it. Isn't this what I want? People to love me and care for me? To have a family again, even one makeshift and not completely mine? Besides, Vinny's mother seems to like me at least a little. She doesn't make faces or shun me like some people in the District do. Maybe it's because I've known her for years, long before I turned into this. While she seems to genuinely care for me, I still think she's mostly here for Vinny, but I can't fault her for that.

With all the pain, with the nightmares and flashbacks and days where I can't get out of bed, I have something resembling happiness. That's all I can really ask for.


	35. Chapter 35

"We all breakdown

Sometimes the bedroom walls become my only friends,

But they were there from beginning to end"

~Pierce the Veil

I'm not sure why, but whenever my mind wanders, I find my hand pressing against the marks over my calf, tracing the deep rooted scars that now live there. It's become a sort of token, a reminder of what I went through. Sometimes I can still feel the blinding pain of the giant claws ripping my leg open, but mostly it remains pleasantly numb. Occasionally, when my leg is out of reach or my mind is even farther away than normal, I dig my thumb into my forearm, searching for the cut that was once there, inflicted within minutes of the Game's start.

I know why they burned down my home now. When I miss them the most, I wish I had something of theirs, something that isn't new or menial. Everything that mattered was in that cabin when it was turned into ash. In one act everything was taken from me, all pictures, memorabilia, anything with significance. Sure, there's clothes here, even a doll of Lily's that she must have gotten while I was on my tour. I hold it sometimes, trying to picture Lily with it, but I can't. It belonged to her but it wasn't hers, not really.

That's what I'm doing now, massaging the scars on my leg with Vinny beside me, while Adele is in the kitchen with Vinny's sisters. His mother is coming later; weekends make for the best sales she says, so she stays at work longer.

Ever since I woke up this morning I've had a headache, a tiny knot pulling behind my eyes, nagging at me each time I start to forget it's there. The nightmares were bad last night; I can see that in the bags under Vinny's eyes as well as my own. I could hardly close my eyes without erupting into body convulsing screams of terror. It's exhausting, but I can't dare rest out of fear of them coming back.

I chew on the inside of my lip as my fingernail traces the outline of the worst scar, running from the back of my knee all the way down to my heel. I still don't know how I was able to walk afterwards. The memories all blur together after a while. I can remember limping away after I killed the mutt, I know it was a mutt that attacked me, but each time I think about it, I see a person, a human, digging their animalesque claws into me. Last night it was Kiyo; the boy I beat to death with the rock for his axe that first night. I can remember _that_ moment perfectly. He fought so hard, digging his nails into my skin so deep they drew blood. But the blood, all the blood… I don't know how he didn't drown in it. It rolled down his head, dripping into his eyes and mouth, flying at my face every time he screamed. And oh how he screamed; no matter how hard I hit, how hard I crushed his skull, he just kept screaming and screaming and screaming and never stopped.

His voice hits me so hard that I could have been back in that forest. There's a scream from behind me- _his_ scream. I jump to my feet, wheeling around to face the kitchen with a panicked yelp.

"Johanna?" Vinny asks, jumping in front of me. My hands are shaking, waiting for Kiyo to round the corner, the blood still dripping into his mouth…. "Johanna!" Vinny grabs me by the shoulders. "You're okay. It was just Maura."

"Just Maura" I whisper, blinking away the visions of blood as I register that the form peering from the kitchen isn't Kiyo. It's Adele, Vinny's sister's standing beside her, peering nervously at me from behind the wall. Maura, the younger girl, has flour streaked across her nose. Of course it was her, that makes sense. But even as I let Vinny pull me back down onto the couch, I can't stop myself from peeking over my shoulder to see if Kiyo will be standing there.

"Johanna?" Vinny echoes. I can hear him, but his voice doesn't register. He has to grab my hand, pulling it away from my calf where I've dug my nails in viciously. "Jo, are you listening to me?"

"What?" My voice feels so far away from my body, like I'm little more than a ghost.

"Are you okay?" he asks.

"I-" I start, breaking off when I swear I see a shadow move behind me. It doesn't make any sense, but I'm still not completely convinced the scream was from Maura. "Yeah" I mumble "I just…" I turn around on the couch, staring at the rest of the room, peering into the shadowed corners and through the windows into the night time forest outside. Something just feels wrong, like there's someone lurking, waiting for me to turn my back. Maybe I'm still asleep and this is another nightmare. Or maybe Snow's torturing me, making me go crazy as punishment. I clench and unclench my hands, batting Vinny away when he tries to stop me.

"Will you look at me?" he asks, sounding more concerned with each word. "There's nothing there, Jo."

"Stop it" I his, batting his hand away when he tries to take my arm again.

"I'm just trying to help-"

"Well stop" I mean to say but it comes out more like a shriek. Why is my heart beating so fast? "You don't get it" I add, checking the darkness behind me once again before forcing myself to face forward.

"Then explain it to me…." Vinny pleads with me.

I shake my head curtly. "I-I can't," I almost whisper. I don't know why but I can't be here right now. Being with them, any of them, it makes my head feel like it's going to explode. Vinny tries to catch my hand as I stand back up but I rip it away with unnecessary force. "Stop trying to help. Just stop it. You're _not_ helping!"

We all fall silent for a moment, taking in the sound of my shout as it bounces across the room. Vinny lets out a breath, standing to face me but I take a few steps backwards with my hand held out towards him.

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, sounding annoyingly sincere.

"Stop" I spit. My fingernails dig into my palms. I want to rip the concern off his face. I want him to yell at me. I want him to feel the rage I feel. I want him to hate me, to scream at me, to hit me until his knuckles are bloody. I want his face, so full of love and kindness, to frown, to be scarred with the anger I have inside of me. " _Stop_ helping me. _Stop_ being here. Stop caring!" I scream as loud as I can, still not satisfied as the effort burns my lungs.

He looks shocked, completely taken by surprise by my sudden outburst. I should feel bad, I should feel sorry, but I don't. I want to fight. I _want_ to scream.

"You don't know what you're doing" I hiss. "You can't help me. You're _worthless_!"

He still doesn't say anything. It's infuriating. His eyes are as steady as ever, ready to take whatever I throw at him. It only makes me angrier. I want to hit him, shatter his perfect face, rip out his eyes that look at me with so much love.

"I don't love you. Why don't you just leave? Why are you even here?" I gasp. "You're nothing! Say something dammit!"

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, his voice calmer than ever.

I clench my fists. I should've killed him, not the others. I should bash _his_ head in until he's more blood than man… The thought jerks me violently and I stumble backwards a few steps. Where did that come from? My throat burns and I think I'm going to vomit. Horror, that's the feeling seeping into my blood. What the hell is wrong with me?

"Get out!" I scream. "Leave!" I wheel around, not looking to see if actually leaves or not.

I can't get up the stairs fast enough. When I get into my room I slam the door behind me, pressing my back against the cool wood. What's wrong with me? Why did I do any of that? Why did I say that? Why did I _think_ that? I wrap my arms around my chest, heaving a tearless sob that makes my chest wail with agony. Something's wrong with me. My brain is turning against me, making me see things that aren't there, making me think things that aren't true. It isn't fair.

I stand with my back to the door until the adrenalin begins to recede. My legs ache like I've been running. I fall forward, collapsing onto my bed with such a painful breath that it hurts to even pull myself under the blankets and curl into a ball. I lie there for hours, until I feel somewhat normal again.

I keep starring at the door. The knowledge that I'm alone is suffocating. Did he leave? Is he waiting downstairs for me to come down? I'm embarrassed and I'm horrified. Plus, my whole body aches so much that I don't think I could make it downstairs again. Surely he'll come. Any second he'll knock on the door and come in. But he doesn't. Neither does Adele, neither does Derek. No one comes. The thought haunts me for hours. _No one is coming_.

At some point I fall asleep, though unwillingly. I should expect the dreams, particularly after tonight, but they always come as a surprise.

 _I'm lying on my back in the snow, Tanya, the girl from 1 who I killed with my knife is kneeling on my chest, her hands wrapped tightly around my throat. She's screaming, blood pouring from her neck onto my face. I grab her hands, push at her face, but she doesn't budge like she's made of stone. She's screaming obscenities, blaming me for her death, for all of their deaths. I try to fight but each time I move my limbs become heavier and heavier until they're so swollen and engorged that I can't move._

 _Camilla walks towards me, the one I stabbed in the gut who died two days later. She's smiling sweetly at me as she kneels by my head. I'm suffocating, choking on Tanya's blood as it pours into my mouth._

 _"_ _Isn't this what you wanted?" Camilla asks. "To die with us?" She starts laughing, a tinkling, a sound that feels like knives plunging into my ears. I can't fight, I can't run. I try to spit the blood away but it just pours faster. I try to breath but fingers just press harder into my trachea, until I can hear the bones cracking and breaking beneath my skin._

I wake up screaming, gasping for air like it wasn't just a dead girl who was suffocating me. My hand flies to my side, reaching for my axe. It takes a minute of groping before I realize I'm in bed, not in the arena. I sit up quickly, my shirt clinging to me where the sweat has fused it with my skin. _I'm at home, I'm safe_. I'm at home, but I notice immediately that I'm alone and a heavy weight presses into my lungs.

I rise slowly out of bed, a heavy sense of dread weighing on my chest. What do I do if I don't find anyone? The idea of going downstairs and finding myself alone almost scares me as much as my nightmares. I shuffle to the top of the stairs, swaying on the top step, listening for anything, anyone.

I only make it halfway down before coming to a halt. There's no one here. I can't face the pain of being alone. Gripping the banister, I lower myself onto the step sitting with my chest leaning against my knees. Someone will come. Someone _has_ to come.

My throat constricts when, almost an hour later, the familiar sound of the door opening rings through the silent house. I almost jump to my feet, ready to embrace whoever it is. If it's Vinny, I'll apologize until my throat is raw. I didn't mean any of it. _I love you. I'm so sorry_. But it isn't Vinny, it's Derek. He looks at me, surprised to find me sitting on the stairs, my head buried in my hands with only my eyes peeking out. He presses his lips together, turning to close the door before standing at the base of the steps.

"Come on" he says, motioning down the stairs.

I stand carefully, moving slowly down until I'm face to face with my mentor. I envelop him in a hug without hesitation. He might not be Vinny, but he _came_. "Thank you" I whisper, my fingers digging into his shirt.

He lets me hold onto him for too long. I feel naked when he finally pushes me away. "Hungry?" he asks. I shrug my shoulders, wondering if he can see the leftover terror on my face. If he can, he doesn't give me any indication.

"Well, Adele is making pancakes" he says, turning back to the door.

I stay silent but I follow him across the dirt path into his equally enormous home. Adele smiles at me when she notices me sheepishly following Derek into the kitchen. I expect something; anger, fear, general disdain, but she smiles and fills me a cup of coffee. She chatters endlessly, giving me an excuse to keep my mouth shut, to which I'm incredibly grateful. She doesn't say a word and I can't possible thank her enough for it.

Most of the morning is spent in the kitchen, as well as most of the afternoon. I drum my fingers across the counter, not sure what I'm waiting for but being unable to shake the feeling that I am indeed waiting. My lip is chewed raw with my recounting everything I said last night. It feels more like a dream than reality, but Adele's curt nod tells me it definitely happened. I feel guilty; sad, angry, confused, and a million other things all at once. Surely something's wrong with me. That's the only explanation.

The sun is beginning to set when I finally excuse myself from Derek and Adele's always too welcoming home. They protest my leaving but I wave their arguments away, closing the door behind me before that can get in a decent word.

My head is pounding in rhythm of my steps as I descend the few cement steps and cross the small road. I don't know why, but when I reach my own door, I pause. My hand holds onto the warm doorknob, but I squint against the sun and peer down the road. In the distance, almost painful to look at under the strong rays of the setting sun, is a black silhouette. I hesitate, watching as the shape gets closer and closer.

I recognize the walk, the hunch of the shoulders, the hair sticking out in a way that's both messy and irresistible. My chest swells with the apologies before he reaches me. I wait on the doorstep, watching Vinny walk towards me. His face is unreadable as he comes into view. He doesn't slow down when he reaches the edge of the house or walks up the short pathway or even when he climbs the three steps so he's standing in front of me.

My mouth is open, ready to say everything I've been running through my head all day, but no sound comes out. My mind is blank, empty, completely silent.

"Vinny" I whisper, my hand clutching the charms that hand around my neck. I shake my head, searching for any words at all. "I'm so sorry" is all I can manage, and even that sounds forced.

I can't look at him. I can feel my cheeks burning as I stare down at my feet, his a tempting few inches away. There's still a part of me that wants him to get mad, to yell at me until there's nothing left to say. But that's not like Vinny. I know he's going to touch me before he does it; his hand touches my bare elbow, running down the length of my arm until my hand is in his.

"I know" he states like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I didn't mean it" I say. "I don't-" I shake my head, daring to look up at him, searching for words. "I don't know what's wrong with me" I don't expect my voice to break.

In an instant I've dissolved. My weak semblance of strength these last few weeks is undone in a second. I start sobbing, clutching to Vinny when he pulls me to him. He leads me into the house, pulling me onto his lap on the couch so I can cling to him like my life depends on it.

Vinny doesn't say anything, maybe because he's afraid of my wrath or maybe because he knows there's nothing to say. I'll be broken forever. Each time I think I'm getting better, I just fall apart again. What I need is to forget, to be taken somewhere far away with someone who loves me so I can do nothing else but _forget_. But that's what the Games don't allow. A year ago my life ended at the reaping, six months ago I was forced to grovel before the families of those I killed, and now, in less than a week, I'll be going back to the Capitol with tributes of my own.

No, I'll never be whole again. I'll always be broken.


	36. Chapter 36

"And now I'm told that this is life

That pain is just a simple compromise

So we can get what we want out of it"

~Paramore

My head pounds as I sit in the dark, staring out the window at the empty street. There's a full moon tonight, making it so that I can see every tremble of the trees as the wind blows. My stomach churns, knowing that, in just a handful of hours, I'll be returning to hell, this time as a mentor instead of a tribute. If I had to guess, it's no earlier than midnight, but I know I won't be sleeping.

Something pinches at my brain, forcing me to my feet. In my kitchen, stored in a decorative cabinet, is a healthy stash of alcohol. I stare up at it, not sure what to do. I've rarely had the money or fortune to drink, and in the last year alone I've at least triple the amount of liquor I've drank. I might not be experienced but I do know about the warm, sleepy feeling drinking brings and how, for some, the emptiness.

Feeling somewhat stupid, I pull out the front most bottle, wrestling with the seal and lid before bringing it to my lips. Almost immediately I pull away, wincing at the burn spreading from my throat down to my gut. I almost put the bottle back but, after contemplating going back to bed, take another drink. I wince again, wondering how any of them: Derek, Blight, Haymitch from 12 and the other famous drunks ever get used to it.

Staring down at the liquid, I wonder if I'll ever be the same. Shrugging, I force down another sip and, with the bottle clasped in my hand, take the steps up to my room.

I sit on the edge of my bed, soaking in darkness and, ever so slowly, I keep drinking the foul liquid. I don't think I get drunk, but my head definitely begins to swim. At some point I lie back against my pillows, blissfully unaware of the fear that's been keeping me awake for weeks.

I'm dead asleep when a hand touches my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. I bat the hand away, rolling over while keeping my eyes closed. I hardly slept last night thanks to the nightmares, though the drinks definitely helped. My legs ache with the effort of tensing and relaxing all night long. I'm exhausted but the hand doesn't give up. Ready to pounce on whoever's stupid enough to pester me, I jerk awake.

I stop myself mid swing when I see Derek standing above me. I'm braced to snap at him when I remember why he's here, why Vinny isn't in bed with me.

"Sorry" I mutter, dropping my hand back down onto the blankets. I sit up slowly, leaning against the backboard while I rub the exhaustion from my eyes.

"You have to start getting ready" Derek says like an apology.

"Do I? Who's going to stop me from going in my pajamas?" I snarl, already ripping the blankets away and rising to my feet. "Maybe I'll start a new fashion trend" I sneer. It's not Derek's fault but he's here and I'm angry, making him the unfortunate target this morning.

"I'm sorry" he sighs. "The reaping starts soon, though."

I swear at no one and nothing in particular as I push past Derek towards my closet. I'm not going to put him in the uncomfortable position of forcing me to do anything today. I'm smart enough to realize that today isn't the day to take out my anger on him. This isn't negotiable, not for me, for him, or any of the tributes whose names will be called in a few hours' time. For as much as I've been dreading today, I feel surprisingly calm as I pull on presentable clothes and pull a brush through my tangled hair.

I'm still afraid, though. I'm supposed to bring some girl home and chances are she'll die. She'll go through everything I went through and by the end of it all she'll be dead and some other poor soul will be alive. It isn't fair. It isn't fair at all.

I stand behind the bathroom door for a moment, breathing in deeply before marching into the hall with my chin high. Derek's waiting for me like he said he would be. His hand is clasped tightly around his wife's. I still forget how hard this is for him too. At least this year he won't be alone. As little comfort as it is, I'll be suffering with him.

We arrive with the last group of people. There's no hurry for us. Blight and William show u even after Derek and I and, I notice, the strong scent of liquor on Blight and he gives me a nod. I return the gesture, adding a quick eye roll, before peering at him through the corner of my eye. He won, what? Forty years ago and he's still drinking? It doesn't make me feel much better for my own odds. I wipe the back of my hand over my forehead, sweat having risen both from the heat and fear trickling down my spine. Sure, everyone is afraid today, but this is different standing on this side of the stage. The fear we feel is different than what's writhing through the crowd. It isn't our lives, or the lives of people we love that we fear for- though Vinny and his sisters are still at risk- it's a much more selfish, primal fear.

Karina greets Derek and I enthusiastically, like we're old friends separated by nothing more than distance. She even gives polite greeting to Blight and William, who stand quietly off to the side, ready for the whole ordeal to be over so they can go home. She wasn't their escort, but she treats them as such. The headache forming behind my eyes only seems to get worse when she snatches me into a hug, her perfume invading my nostrils. I push her away aggressively, but aside from a cutting glare, she doesn't say a word about it.

Karina wastes no time getting started, ushering the four of us into our spots and nearly bouncing with excitement as she takes her place on stage. It's sickening, watching the way she smiles as she goes through the Reaping traditions.

I scan the crowd nervously, sweating under the midday sun. Vinny is out there somewhere, his sisters too, but there's too many people packed in too tightly for me to find him. It's his last year in the reaping, his being a year older than me. But his sisters are young and at risk. They didn't take the tesserae this year. I convinced Vinny they didn't need to. I have enough money to help them if they need it- it's not worth the risk. But then he would lose his leverage over me. There's only so many people he can kill before there's no one left. They won't get called, right? Something about forcing me to mentor one of them seems like something Snow would do.

I'm so invested in searching for Vinny that I don't realize that Karina has already moved on from the speeches and is selecting the poor soul doomed to be my tribute. "Milena Cachova!" she calls, the name thankfully foreign to my ears. But the relief doesn't last. She emerges from the second to last row, onyx hair catching the light and bright blue eyes shining with tears. She's only thirteen.

There's an older boy that I notice fighting against the crowd to get to her. His hair is the same midnight black as hers- a brother if I had to guess. Luckily someone stops him before he gets to aisle. There's no surer way to destroy your sister than to force her to watch you be beaten on the day of her reaping.

She climbs the stairs slowly, letting Karina direct her into place. For thirteen she's tall, already taller than I am, though that's not saying much. I notice the look she gives me, so full of terror and doubt. I try to nod at her, to give her some sort of strength for the next few minutes, but she looks away too soon. She might not need it, though. Already her hands are balled so tightly together that much of the trembling is unnoticeable. Her eyes are clear even through the obvious distress.

It's not fair.

Karina prances to the boy's bowl, pulling out another name without hesitation. "Marcus Siciliano!"

He takes me a little while longer to find. His hair is dusty blonde, close to the color of corn when it's dried out. He emerges from the sixteen-year-old section. His eyes are dark against the milk of his skin and hair. He doesn't look at me, Derek either as he mounts the stage and takes his place beside Milena. He's tall, and there's a bulkiness to him that tells me he hasn't been slacking on his work. There's no fear in his face, none of the anxious and desperate scanning that comes with the complete surrender of control. He's not surprised he's here, and he's not fighting it.

True to her title, Karina escorts the two into the Justice building, leaving Derek and I to wander in after them. At some point Derek takes hold of my arm, pulling me out of the way of everyone into a relatively secluded nook. I don't even realize he's holding on to me until he lets go, leaving me feeling exposed. "We wait here until they're done." I nod, grateful that he knows what he's doing.

Blight comes by, exchanging a few words with Derek and giving me a sympathetic smile and meager "good luck" before he nearly runs out of the building. Derek tells me that they don't let anyone in who isn't here to say goodbye to the tributes, which means Vinny isn't allowed in, Adele either. That's fine though. We said our goodbyes yesterday, no point in dragging it out now.

We spend at least an hour on an old couch while Karina paces, talking into a handheld phone I've only ever see in the Capitol. She seems annoyed at the wait and while I feel impatient, I'm not complaining. I drum my hands on my knees, starring out the window into the obsolete square. No one will linger today.

When they finally emerge and Karina ushers us to the car, I find myself unable to look at the two tributes in front of me. They're quiet too, so I at least have an excuse for not talking. But I wring my hands in my lap, watching the tips of my fingers turn red with the pressure. I don't know what there is to say to them. They're both going to die. The girl, Milena doesn't have a chance but the boy… he's strong and seems smart, in any other situation he would be survivor. That makes it hurt all the more to know he'll be dead. District 7 doesn't win two Games in a row, not now, not ever.

I dissociate from the cameras and press as we're led into the train. Stepping onto the platform takes my breath away, like I'd sooner choke. I can hardly even the see the flashes of the camera or hear the calls for attention. There's a static in my ears that's growing louder by the second. Smiling for pictures was never part of my agreement.

When we make it onto the train, Derek tells the tributes to sit. Last year I went straight to my room, I missed whatever it is he plans on doing now. Karina sits to the side, watching quietly for once in her life. I wonder if she remembers me in this place just a year ago. Oh how weak she thought I was. Does she think that of these tributes, too? Or is the curious gleam in her eye the thought of deception?

I lean back against the chair, pulling my legs beneath me as Derek starts a slow ramble. He asks about their histories, their skills, etc.… I don't pay much attention. My mind won't focus, pulling images and memories from the recesses of my brain and overlapping them with the trees flying by outside.

"Johanna?" Derek asks, his voice taking too long for me to realize they're looking at me. I remain curled up on the chair, but I turn my shoulders so that I'm not longer facing the window.

"Hmmm?" I look mostly at Derek, my stomach twisting into knots when I look at either of the tributes for too long.

"Any advice?" he asks, looking earnest in his request.

I look back to the window for a moment, tugging at a loose strand of hair. What advice can I actually give? I bite the inside of my cheek, thinking back a year when I huddled in my room, starring out the window just as mindlessly as I am now. What should Derek have told me then? Would I have even believed him if he told me how much pain I'd feel?

A cynical smile pulls at my lips, making me feel particularly wicked when I focus in on Milena and Marcus. "You want my advice?" I ask slowly. "If I were you… I'd step on one of those mines at the cornucopia. Much faster."

Marcus balks, furrowing his eyes at me. "This isn't a joke, you know."

I smile back at him, giving up picking at a knot in my hair. "Yes it is" I purr, "but you don't have to listen to me; when you're getting ripped apart by mutts or your head bashed in by the Careers or having your throat slit, you'll wish you just blew up. It's much _cleaner_ that way."

Marcus is ready to fight me, but Derek silences him with a wave. "Johanna stop" he barks, giving me a firm glare. "If you don't have anything helpful- anything _good_ to say, then don't talk."

I shrug, turning back to the window. "It's The Hunger Games, who has anything good to say anyway?"

Derek sighs but doesn't press me any further. He pushes Marcus and Milena about their skills, particularly about weapons and fighting, of which Marcus has an abundance and Milena is lacking. She's from one of the mill families, working in factories to make paper products instead of cutting down and prepping the trees. Those kids never make it out. The conversation goes on and on, feeling particularly repetitive after almost an hour of interrogation. An avox gives me a glass of water when I ask for it, although I'd rather have something stronger to just knock me out.

"Why do you want to live?" Derek asks suddenly, catching my attention. I shift my legs so that I can see the tributes, both staring at Derek like he just asked the craziest question in the world. I almost agree with them as I stare at my mentor, but I think I know where he's going.

"My brother" Milena whispers, clutching at the sides of her arms. "We're all that's left of our family. If I die he's alone."

I swallow heavily. He's going to be alone then. Marcus has more or less the same story. Everyone is barely hanging on; you couldn't find a single person in District 7 who hasn't lost someone. I listen to them quietly as they go on and on about things they think are important but ultimately don't matter. Derek responds every once in a while, looking to me for input and as a precaution. I don't speak or move or give any indication of life past the occasional sigh. Even at dinner I hardly eat. My stomach feels like it's shrunk to the size of a pebble.

Marcus rubs his hand nervously in front of him, already having downed three servings of each platter. "What about… an alliance?" he asks, more directed at Derek than me.

I snap my head up in attention. Milena is looking at the boy, debating whether or not he means her; but the way he looks over at her and nods confirms it. Derek has his lips pursed, as if considering it.

"Really?" Milena asks, her voice soft.

Marcus nods, shrugging nonchalantly. "The Careers do it. I think it could help, right?"

"You're sure?" Derek asks, waiting for the two of them to exchange a quick glance and then nod. "Alright."

"What?" I spit, dropping my fork with a clatter. "You're going to let them do that?" I ask Derek.

"It's not a bad strategy, Johanna" he responds.

"Of course it is! The Careers only win because they've trained their whole lives, not because they stick together. An alliance won't work," I turn my attention to Marcus and Milena, "it'll only get you killed even faster."

"I thought that-" Marcus starts.

"I don't care what you think" I snap. "You have no idea what's going to happen. You're going to die; I'd try to accept that. Winning- _surviving_ , it's not what you want." I stand up, waving away Derek's protests before he even opens his mouth. "I'm done" I mutter "do what you want, I don't care."

It's not true. I care very much. I don't know how Derek can stand listening to them, talking to them, knowing that they're just going to die. Maybe, I grimace at the thought, he'd rather have them die, that way they don't have to suffer. But I can't do that. Every second with them is like a fire forcing the air out of my lungs. They're going to die and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

I sit on the edge of my bed, burying my head in my hands, feeling more helpless than ever before.


	37. Chapter 37

"Does it make you feel alive?

Does it make you feel so high?

How does it feel? How does it feel?"

~Nothing More

When I wake up it's to my own sweat and tremors. I'm curled tightly into a ball, my hands clutching the blankets so tightly that my fingernails have turned a pale yellow. A quick look at the time tells me it's just past five in the morning, giving me almost a whole four hours of sleep.

Derek, as usual, is already awake and sitting with a cup of hot coffee at the dining table. I grab one of my own, sinking into the chair across from him before letting my head fall into my hands. He's disappointed in me, and at least a little annoyed. His eyes are stern but I don't meet his stare. We don't talk for a while, just sit in comfortable, if tense, silence.

"How do you do it?" I whisper, dropping my hands so I can look at him through exhausted eyes.

"I don't have a choice."

"Neither do I" I snap. "But that's not what I mean" I sigh, shaking my head slightly.

"Anyone I can bring home is worth it" he says, his hand tightening around his coffee cup as he looks at me earnestly. Admittedly, he did help me win. He saved my life, at least for a little while. But was I really worth it? I'm awful and I'm a mess.

"I sometimes wish I hadn't won" I say honestly, peering down into the brown liquid steaming in front of me.

"So do I" he agrees. "But we can't change that now."

I nod, running my fingers through my hair, grimacing when I pull on a knot. "They're going to die" I mutter indifferently.

Derek almost laughs, not in a happy way but more in cynical agreement. "Probably," he sips his coffee. "You know you're not the only one I've brought home, right?"

I blink at him. Of course I know that. Something like eight years ago a girl, Adrian, won. She died a few months after the Victory tour. I'd almost forgotten about her. She would have been my mentor had she been alive. "Yeah" I say so quietly it's almost a whisper. The jealousy makes me smile. Why am I jealous of a dead girl?

Milena appears, stopping our conversation just as I open my mouth with a question. I clamp my mouth shut, choosing to sip my coffee as Derek offers her a seat, letting her eat her fill. The process repeats for Marcus when he emerges a few minutes later. Derek tries to talk strategy, particularly since we'll be arriving in the Capitol soon, and as I could tell them, strategy matters more than just in the arena. I chew on my lip as he instructs them, wishing I had anything useful to say.

It's far too soon when we pull into the station. I'd hoped the cameras wouldn't care about me now that there's a new batch of tributes, but I'm very obviously wrong. A multitude of the cameras are directed at me, calling _my_ name instead of the tributes. I glare around at them, ignoring the calls for my attention. I wait for Milena and Marcus to get in the car before casting a last dirty glare over my shoulder and climbing in after them.

It's a short ride before we arrive at the dreaded training center. I feel no joy at seeing Lucille and my prep team swoop Milena away. No doubt come evening she'll be turned into a tree, just like every damn year. But we don't linger once the tributes are swept away. Derek leads me back to the elevator. I expect him to hit the shining black '7' but instead he hits another, shrugging when I cast him a questioning glance. "You should know your way around" he says simply.

More or less it's all rather simple. There a room one floor beneath the lobby dubbed the "control room." Aside from us, there's only one person here. Haymitch Abernathy; already far into a drunken stupor. He makes a slurred comment about trying to hide, and not to bother him.

Derek gives me a general idea of how the whole thing works. Around the rectangular room are computer monitors, each with a number painted on the wall above them; 7 obviously pertaining to us. We can watch our tributes this way, see their stats, supplies, odds, etc.… He briefly explains sponsors and sending gifts but I assume I'll figure that out when I have to; I'm sure I'll be coming back here long into the future.

"Once they're in the arena there's really not much to do but watch. You don't actually have to be down here but… everybody is" Derek says. I nod, looking around the dark room.

Whether they want to or not, everyone is invested in the lives of their tributes. We all know what it was like and even if it's through a screen. I know I'll be watching until their hearts stop beating. As much as I pretend I don't care, I can't deny my aching chest.

"Pretty girl like her? _She_ won't be here much" a voice hiccups. Derek and I turn simultaneously to see Haymitch pulling himself to his feet. He stumbles a few steps towards us, close enough that I can smell the liquor on his breath. "You'll be an expert on the men of the Capitol before long."

I stare at him, lips slightly parted, not a single word coming forward as he saunters away, laughing wildly.

"Promise me you won't do anything stupid" Derek asks, casting me a worried glance as we enter the enormous warehouse, already some of the last mentors to arrive.

I raise my eyebrows, not looking at him but instead at the others. "Do I ever?" I try to joke, but it falls flat. An hour ago I got my tell-tale note signed from President Snow. So he knows about Vinny. Of course he does. I won't screw up this time; I won't get him killed.

Still, I can't fight the fear making my heart flutter. What if it's the same man as last time? Or what if someone does worse? Am I really supposed to just let it happen, let myself get strangled or worse? I guess so, though I bet whoever it is would pay dearly for killing a treasured Victor. Doesn't do _me_ much good if I'm dead on their bedroom floor, though.

I shake my head, forcing the thought away. That's something I'll deal with in a few hours, right now I need to pay attention. We walk up the line of chariots. Most other mentors seem to be here, along with a handful of tributes who've arrived. Some stand in groups, talking casually, others stand by themselves with a varied range of expressions.

Someone calls Derek's name from a few chariots ahead. His eyes slide over to me but I wave him away with a huff. "Go talk to your friends" I mutter as if I were annoyed, but I'm secretly grateful to be left alone for a moment. He's been hovering ever since we arrived. For once he feels more like a pest than a comfort.

"Johanna Mason" someone calls almost as soon as Derek leaves, dragging out my name like candy. I look over my shoulder, folding my arms over my chest indignantly. _Finnick Odair_. I should have expected. He appears to be under the influence that we're friends. Admittedly, we did kiss the first time we met, but that was more for protection than out of desire; besides, I have Vinny and he has Annie. A flicker of a memory of meeting her on my Victory tour dances in my mind. She was so quiet, so timid, so _scared_ ; how did those two ever get together?

I watch as he saunters towards me, still as cocky and self-assured as ever. There's a huge, goofy grin on his face when he stops beside me, his hand stroking one of the horse's long black manes, but it falters slightly when we make eye contact.

"How's District 7?" he asks. I bite my lip. He's not asking as a conversation starter; I can see the meaning behind his words, the sadness in his eyes. He means my family. "You doing alright?" I expect sadness, or at least irritation at the question but instead I find myself quickly filling with anger. Snow didn't kill my family only to punish me, no, he did it as a reminder to everyone else not to step out of line or you'll end up like poor Johanna Mason. It makes my blood boil.

"Everyone knows?" I ask quietly, glancing around at the other Victors before looking back at Finnick.

He sighs, making a small face before nodding. "Everyone here at least," he confirms, "it's come up in most conversations I've had so far."

I press my lips together in anger. How dare they flaunt my family's death like some new fad. Is my misery nothing but a joke to them? Seeming to hear my thoughts, a dark skinned woman, at least fifty years old, catches my attention from down the line. Her dark eyes pierce mine, looking into my soul. She pities me and yet, there's anger there. I glare back at her, challenging her, but she looks away nearly as soon as I notice her.

"You okay?" Finnick asks, pulling my attention away from the woman.

I don't know if he's asking about now or in general, but in either case I shrug. "I'm just perfect" I snap sarcastically.

"I like optimism in a woman" Finnick laughs, finally dropping his hand from the horse's neck. I raise my eyebrows at him, pretty sure he's only joking but not completely confident. The look only makes him laugh again, accompanied with a way too pretty-boy eye roll. "Don't worry, I'm taken" he nudges me with his elbow. "But I'm sure I could fit you in if things fell through."

I roll my eyes, annoyed with how easily he makes me smile. It wasn't even particularly funny, he's just easy to talk, and listen, to. "No thanks. I'm not interested anyway" I say, biting my lip to keep from returning his grin.

The sight of Derek walking back towards me causes me to glance over at the elevator. Along with a pair of tributes I assume are from District 8 from their costumes, Milena and Marcus are heading over with Lucille and the other stylist. I sigh internally, half hoping they'd disappear back up the elevator; it's just hard even looking at them.

"Well," Finnick says, seeing his cue to leave "if you're ever bored or want a pretty face to look at, you know where to find me."

"A pretty face won't do me much good" I sigh, nodding at Derek, who greets Finnick casually.

"We do a lot more than you think" he laughs with a wink. "But I'm always open to getting a drink, too" he laughs, finally pushing away from the chariot and heading back the way he came. The way he laughs has me thinking that, maybe, he might already have started that process.

I stare after him for a moment, wondering why it is I have to urge to accept the offer. Maybe it's how casual he is, how easy it is to just let him get lost in himself and feel accepted in an odd sort of way. Or maybe I'm just desperate for distraction. Either way, the drinking part sounds very tempting. I can count the amount of times I've had alcohol on one hand. It's too expensive for most people to buy, myself included until recently. But there's always a few drunks in town, and celebrities like Haymitch. Maybe they're on to something.

"Don't they look splendid!" Karina shrieks as the group approach, stealing my attention.

"They look like trees" I grumble. Of course it's the most obvious choice, but couldn't they have some damn originality?

Karina gives me one of her icy glares before deciding one of the branches on Milena's costume is askew, bickering with Lucille over its placement. I catch Milena's piercing blue eyes. She looks wary, unsure of what to expect. I swear I can see the beginning of tears and it pulls at my stomach.

"Don't worry about it" I say, nodding at the chariot. "All you have to do is stand there." She smiles meekly, her face going pale when the announcement sounds overhead that all tributes need to board their chariots.

I stand back to let Derek help them in place, giving them some last minute encouragements before we all move away and they disappear into the night. I stand by my team, my hands plunged into my pockets as we listen quietly to the audience screaming. It should be a happy sound, the cheering and excitement, but all I feel is dread. Because what's a good sound when it's for something terrible?


	38. Chapter 38

"Catch me as I fall

Say you're here and it's all over now

Speaking to the atmosphere

No one's here and I fall into myself

The truth drives me

Into madness

I know I can stop the pain

If I will it all away"

~Evanescence

I have to let Derek take Milena and Marcus up to our floor. I feel bad, almost like I'm abandoning them even though I'm sure they don't particularly care if I'm there or not. Still, I'd most definitely prefer to be there than sitting in a leather-seated car being carted off to whore myself out for the Capitol.

My head is already pounding when I reach the doorstep of another in the long line of mansions. When a balding man opens the door I can't help but think back to Finnick's suggestion earlier. Maybe I should just get drunk, surely it'd be easier that way. But, as made abundantly clear by his eager smile, there'll be no time to get drunk tonight.

I'm whisked inside and lead brashly to a massive bedroom. The familiar sensation of fear, my heart racing, my chest burning, the sensation of acid tearing through my intestines… it all returns so fast. I'm pushed down onto my back before I can resist. I clench my fists together as his hands run up my legs, pushing under my dress toward my underwear. He's slow, methodical, in a way that makes me wish he'd just hurry up and get to the point so I can leave.

He's pulled me out of my clothes but hasn't gotten to himself after at least a half hour of touching and kissing and _feeling_. I can't stand it. For some reason it feels worse during this part than when we just have sex. It's more personal and thus an even bigger violation.

Only when I can feel myself itching to strangle him, to cut his hands off his grubby arms to keep them off my body, do I sit up so quickly that it shocks him. I grab him by his hair, pushing him backwards so that he's no longer leaning over me. My hands fall to his belt, undoing it expertly after the last six months of practice. The man moans in pleasure as I push him down, taking his place on top.

I move quickly, the guilt only motivating me to finish even faster.

I swallow my shame and straddle the man's hips. It doesn't take long to get him off, but each time he insists that we go again. I grit my teeth and comply, all the while feeling worse and worse. What would Vinny say if he knew what I was doing right now? How would he feel? Would he understand that I don't want this? That I only do it to keep him, the last person left, alive?

When I finally stumble back into the car, I cling to the charm round my neck. _I'm so sorry_ I think to myself, willing Vinny to feel my apology though he doesn't know what I have to be sorry for.

Back in the Tribute Center, I immediately head for the shower. My head pounds, only seeming to get worse as the seconds drag on. Finnick keeps popping into my head. He must be asleep by now, or at least returning from the same trip I went on. Besides, my legs ache too much to walk back to the elevator, let alone down another three floors.

The nightmares are already close; I can feel them burning on the backs of my eyelids each time I blink. I don't think I can handle them tonight. I'm so tired, but so much as looking at the bed makes my heart race. I stand swaying in the middle of my room, silently contemplating my options. Finally, with a sigh I pull on some loose fitting pajamas and stalk back out to the dining room. Like always, an array of various drinks, most of which are alcoholic, sit displayed on a glass shelf.

I've never been a drinker, not that I haven't before. Not particularly caring what it is, I grab the first bottle my hands touch, which I think is vodka but I can't tell by the elaborate writing on the side. I manage to wrench the top free by the time I get back to my room and sit on the edge of my bed. Looking out into the city below I take a long drink, relishing the burn in the back of my throat as I swallow. It doesn't take long before I begin to feel cloudy. My eyelids feel heavy and warm; like I'm falling into a warm bath each time I close them.

I could get used to this; the feeling of floating away. I drink more than I probably should, seeing as I've really had little experience. At this point I don't really care what happens to me. I set the still nearly full bottle down on the bedside table and lie down on my back. Even in the dark of early morning I can still see the ceiling above me. Do the lights ever go out in this city?

At some point I fall asleep, waking only a few hours later to find that I thankfully escaped my nightmares for the night. I cast the vodka an appreciatory glance as I sit up. If it really makes it that easy to sleep then I understand why so many Victors turn into alcoholics; hell, I might do it myself.

It's early enough that the sky is tinged pink with sunrise, but late enough that I know Milena and Marcus must already be up. I don't know why, but I find myself climbing out of bed. At least making an appearance seems important. My eyes burn against the sunlight and lack of sleep. I probably drank a little too much as my head seems to have its own heartbeat and I still feel a slight sense of floating. Nonetheless I fall into a seat around the table, motioning for coffee which has already been brought out for the others.

"Are you okay?" I'm surprised to hear Milena ask. I lean on my elbows, peering at her curiously as she fidgets nervously with her training uniform.

"I'm about as okay as you are" I mutter, pressing my forehead into the palm of my hand. Why didn't I sleep longer? My temples seem to pound on their own accord.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Marcus asks, his eyebrows raised like he's ready to fight. An unexpected feeling of appreciation moves through me. I'd probably like this kid, under different circumstances.

"It means I'm on a spiral. I'm in my own damn arena" I rub my temples, glancing over at him to see him furrow his eyebrows. I huff, annoyed. "I'm just tired."

Thankfully they don't ask anything else. Derek looks concerned while Karina just seems annoyed with me, as if I cared. I eat quickly, not having much of an appetite. As tired as I am, anyone would think I hadn't slept in days, which isn't exactly wrong. Sleeping less than four hours every night for the last two weeks, and with that interrupted by nightmares, makes me _feel_ like I haven't slept in days. There's also the fact that I know I'll be out late again tonight and the next night, and likely every night at least until the Games start. It's enough to make my stomach curl.

I let out a long breath, a sudden image coming to mind of me sitting in this exact spot, hair gray and wrinkles around my eyes. We don't win often. And even if we did, I know I'll be coming for a long time regardless. This lack of sleep is going to age me ten times as fast as normal.

Karina leads Milena and Marcus away a few minutes before nine. Derek doesn't have to ask what's wrong or why I look terrible but he knows. We move over to the couches, both still sipping coffee as if it actually helps. Derek finds some mindless Capitol T.V. show that makes my eyes droop. I'm not aware how close I am to falling asleep until I actually do.

It's early evening when I jerk awake. Derek jumps in surprise at my sudden movement. Sweat drenches my shirt, making my neck and back feel uncomfortably damp. Whenever I think I'm safe the nightmares always come back. I clamp my mouth shut, breathing heavily through my nose. At least I didn't wake up screaming this time, I'm sure Derek's used to it, probably even done it himself, but I'm still embarrassed by the thought. It seems too private and personal for an audience.

Derek rises with a grunt, filling a glass with water and handing it to me. "Here" he says as he falls back into his spot on the couch.

"Thanks" I murmur, surprised at how quickly I down the glass. All the while I can feel Derek's eyes on me, burning holes through my head. I can only imagine when he must be seeing. I'm damp with sweat, likely incredibly pale, and frankly a disaster. It's not judgment I feel from his stare, either. More like parental concern. Concern that isn't his to have.

"Stop looking at me" I snap, wiping the sweat off the back of my neck as I place the glass on the table. Derek looks away apologetically but I notice how he glances over at me every few seconds. He worries about me. But he shouldn't.

We both turn to the sound of the elevator sliding open. I instinctively pull my legs up towards my chest, scooting the end of the couch even though there's eons of room for them. Derek waves Milena and Marcus over and they sit on the cushions of the leather couch between the ones Derek and I sit on. I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing at the mundaneness of it all. They're practically school children coming home to tell their parents about their day over dinner. I remember doing that exact thing with Johnathan when were young. It was my favorite thing, sitting with my whole family, talking and eating until my mother sent us away and we'd spend the rest of the evening running around outside playing some stupid game. Before long they're _actually_ talking about home and school and the few other things children in District 7 get to experience.

I wish I could stay and listen to them talk but, unfortunately, I'm all too aware of the time reflecting through some glass-type clock. Karina doesn't seem to notice when I push away from the table, but Lucille does and casts me a dirty look for the interruption. It's almost enough to set me over the edge if it weren't for the steadily increasing dread. Begrudgingly I shuffle back to my room, dressing in almost comatose dissociation.

When I finally come back out I'm disappointed to see them all still sitting at the table, playing house and talking happily with each other. Their eyes follow me as I push past them, gawking at my sudden change from this morning's simple outfit. I glare at them, feeling the venom rise in my mouth, but I'm unable to spit it out. Milena and Marcus stop me. As close to normal as this seems, I can see the uncertainty in their faces, the nervous way their fingers drum on the table – they're terrified. I press my lips together and slam my fist into the button for the elevator. They don't need to know anything. Why scare them even more when they're just going to die anyway?

I lean against the wall once the doors close around me. Is that why Derek didn't say anything? He assumed I wouldn't live much longer anyway? Or did his desire to keep me alive outweigh all else?

The elevator stops, making me lurch to attention. My mind won't focus, so I don't realize I'm not on the ground floor when the doors open. I almost run smack into Finnick, who seems completely unsurprised to see me here. He smiles at me when I embarrassedly tuck my hair behind my ear.

"Big date?" he asks, looking me up and down.

I clench my jaw tightly, ready to swallow down anything that may work its way back up. Sure, he's trying to be funny, but even I notice his complete lack of humor. He's dressed just as I am, ready for a night with a stranger. I cross my arms, not wanting to look at him but also entranced by the realization that I'm not the only one being tortured with this. Of course, I always knew it wasn't only me, but I hadn't heard or seen anyone else do it.

"Bite me" I mutter in return, though it's as halfhearted as his comment was.

I pick at the skin of my arm, certain that the elevator must have frozen in space. Of course, as soon as I think the doors won't ever open, I'm presented with the shining lobby of the tribute center.

I'm surprised to find Finnick and I looking at each other as we step out. Is it reassurance or comfort? We walk quietly and slowly towards the wide glass doors across from us, multiple cars already waiting for the multitude of Victors.

"You know" Finnick says as soon as we step outside. I take advantage of the distraction, stopping to look at him. "When I heard about your family a few months ago…" he trails off, visibly searching for the right words. "I was almost happy for you, relieved at least. But your still here" he sounds sympathetic and sad, like he can imagine the pain I feel every second.

"I thought" he continues, running his fingers through his caramel hair "that at least you'd be… free?" he shrugs, like he's not even sure if he's making sense. I dip my head, giving him a slow nod. "I'm sorry" he adds.

A chill runs across my skin. How strange of a thing to apologize for, not the death of someone, but their survival. I chew my lip, wondering what I would have done if Vinny had been killed too. I don't know if I ever would have made it through. Derek might have pulled me free eventually, but I don't know if I could have ever recovered as much.

"He didn't take everyone" I whisper.

"Yeah well," Finnick sighs, "they won't let you go too easy."

" _Easy_ " I hiss, rolling my eyes. My family's death almost killed me. I still don't know if I'll ever get the image of them, burning to death in the smoldering remains of our home, out of my head.

"Not what I meant."

A heavy silence falls between us and we both look off towards the cars sitting a few feet away. I wish I could pretend I was sick so I could just curl up in bed. Maybe if I pretended to pass out I wouldn't have to get into that car. I can't risk it though. Snow wouldn't care about excuses; either I do what I'm told or I pay the price. It's not much of a choice. Sick or not, there's rules I have to follow.

I sigh heavily, biting deep into my lip. "We should go" I murmur, even my words seem stuck in my throat, resisting the inevitable.

Finnick nods but doesn't move either. "Yeah" he agrees, though a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth. Finally, after long minutes of standing in the night air, he takes a few steps away, seemingly leaving without a goodbye. But as soon as he reaches the nearest car, he turns and leans against the black door. "I'll see you soon then" he calls "let's get a drink."

I raise my eyebrows, crossing my arms tightly over my abdomen. Oh how nice that would be right now. I clench my teeth together, forcing myself to stay composed as I respond with a quick jerk of my chin.

"Don't make me hunt you down" he laughs, suddenly as happy and carefree as ever. He disappears into the car, which departs as soon as the door is closed.

I stand there for a moment, until the red lights of the car have disappeared down the road and into the distance. There's no point in stalling, the sooner I get this over the better. As I begin my own trudge to the car I can feel my feet grow heavier with every step. No matter how many times I do this, I don't think it's ever going to get easier.


	39. Chapter 39

**Thank you to everyone who had read/liked/reviewed my story! I'm currently planning on posting a chapter at least once a week. As of now I have 124 chapters written and I'm constantly adding more and editing old chapters, which I'll try to update on here as well. Thank you all again!**

"These days I can't seem to get along with anyone

Get by with anyone

These days I can't seem to make this right

Well, is this fine? Will it be alright?"

~Halsey

Milena and Marcus are unusual company. It seems so normal to have them around, telling me about training, listening to their questions and doing the best I can to answer them without making Derek mad at me. We all seem to fall into a routine; at least I do. Each morning I wake up in a cold sweat, send the tributes off to training and spend the rest of the day lounging around, dozing off between mindless Capitol T.V. shows and small talk with Derek. In the evenings after hearing Milena and Marcus's report of the day, I change and get carted off for someone else to put their hands all over me.

The scores are something that throws a wrench in my routine. I want to stay and watch them, Milena even asks me to, as she's accustomed to my disappearance every night. I stand leaning against the side of the couch, chewing on the inside of my cheek in fear that I'll be late. Nevertheless, I'll stay for as long as I can. Some small part of me still hopes they'll be miracles.

The tributes from 1 get matching tens, District 2 getting another ten and a nine. District 4, Finnick's tributes, get an eight and nine. I keep myself surprisingly steady when Marcus pulls a seven and Milena a small four. It's bad, and I can see the grief in her face. The rest of the scores are pretty average, no one else scoring above an eight, and the boy from 12 getting a matching four.

We all stay silent for a moment after Derek turns off the screen. At least when I got my three I knew it was fake; Milena genuinely couldn't do anything better. That's what happens when thirteen year olds are pitted against eighteen year olds. I mumble a quiet apology, mostly resigning myself to nodding at the pathetic encouragements Derek and Marcus give her. Even Karina look sorry for the girl, not enough though to keep her from ordering an array of deserts to "celebrate" with. I pinch my lips together and give Karina the fiercest glare I can manage. I would stay if I could, not only to escape the meaty hands of some rich Capitol man, but the tears rising in Milena's eyes make me want to go to her and help her. But I can't, so bite the inside of my cheek and stalk away to the elevator, wishing them a goodnight before letting the doors close behind me.

It's another night belonging to Snow and to the Capitol. I feel like I'm sneaking out, almost like I need to duck my head and pull a coat up to my neck. Even in the car I can see their eyes watching me leave. Luckily, my suitor for the night doesn't keep me long. He's rough, and an ex-Peacekeeper. I make the poor choice of commenting on his poor career choice, earning a swift strike across my face. The whole ride home, I run my fingers over the raised lump on my cheek. It's angry and red, but I don't care. I've had worse. I just want to go to bed.

I'm exhausted but my eyes refuse to close. My thumb traces a seam on my thick comforter, my mind racing a million miles an hour. How am I supposed to help them? I've done what I can, giving them tips I think might be important but ultimately don't mean anything. We're all focusing on the interviews tonight more than the actual Games – it's easier that way. Derek's taken the lead in helping them develop a public identity, the concept just seeming too outlandish for me to grasp. Of course, I understand the importance of public perception better than any of them, but I just don't think I can do anything useful.

Lucille is the one to finally knock on my door. Apparently she's still in charge of dressing me, though I'm not anywhere near as elaborate as Milena. She hangs a black and silver dress in the bathroom, leaving some things for me but ultimately letting me look however I want.

I stay curled up in bed for as long as I can. I finally have to get up and get dressed, but each movement feels like it's through inches of water. I find Derek and have a few bites of lunch with him. The day moves far too fast for me; the thought of sitting through the interviews makes me want to puke. It isn't long before Karina comes in, scolding both me and Derek for not being ready two hours early. We both roll our eyes but shuffle back to our rooms, dressing in the clothes set out for us before going to wait for Milena and Marcus on the leather couches.

Apparently, one of the prep team is sick, leaving Milena already understaffed but, at Lucille's shrill request, I still need work. Karina joyfully volunteers and I visibly cringe. She takes me into the bathroom, but she barley gets started before I see her notice the bruise on my face. She falters and looks up at me with wide eyes. She's had to hide bruises for me before, but I don't want her pity. And I sure as hell don't owe her an explanation. I clench my jaw, trying to silently convey the message that she better keep her mouth shut.

But she's Karina, and she's nothing if not in everyone's business. "What happened?" she asks quietly, almost respectfully, dabbing my cheek with a pale powder to match my skin. If I didn't know better, I would almost think she's concerned. Maybe she is, in her own way.

I let out a cynical laugh. "You'll have to be more specific" I hiss, pulling away from her touch to show off the purple splotch.

"I just mean…" she shakes her head, the elaborate curls in her hair bouncing. "I mean you've been going out at night and if you…" she trails off again.

"If I what?" I snap. If she wants to know, she'll have to ask.

"If you need help, you can talk to me. That's why I'm here you know. To help."

"Is it?" I growl. "I thought you were just here to show us off like sick little trophies."

That makes her pause. She looks at me, doubt clear in the way her eyebrows furrow. "I just want to help you, Johanna. If I can do anything, please tell me."

"You want to help?" I ask with a blood curdling laugh. She nods once and I scoff. "You can pay off all the men who buy me so I don't _have_ to go out every night. You can keep their fucking hands off me. Keep them from doing _this_ " I gesture at my face. That's not the worst thing they've done to me. In a sudden moment, I can imagine the face looking in front of me, hands at my throat, his lips at my ear as he taunts me. I kicked him. I ran from him. He killed my family for it.

"A man did that?" Karina asks, sounding shocked though I know she suspected it. "You could report it, you know. President Snow wouldn't stand for-"

I interrupt her with a louder laugh. " _President Snow_ is the reason this happened," I snap. I lean forward in my chair, peering at her with fury. "He sells me to anyone with enough money. They own me, Karina. If they want to hit me, they get to. If they want to screw me, there's nothing I can do about it. Well I guess that isn't quite true" I pause, sucking in a breath. "I could always refuse. I did that once. I'm sure you heard about the fire that killed my family. So unless you can free me from him. Unless you can bring my family back… stop trying. I hate you. I hate everyone in this damned city because this what you do. You watch children die and torture the survivors. I might be a monster but so are all of you."

I look up at her, she's staring at me, something between shock and horror on her face. I wave my hand dismissively. "Just finish what you need to do and let me go."

It takes her a minute, but she does. She hides the bruise and applies a thin layer of makeup and lets me go. I stalk away, leaving her behind for the comparable comfort of Derek and the tributes.

Milena looks beautiful, there's no doubt, but even from across the room I can see how hard she's working to swallow down tears. Before we drop them off behind the stage I stop her, putting my hand on her shoulder to get her attention. He dark hair frames her face beautifully. Her eyes shine even in the low light and her features could have been carved from glass. How could she look so beautiful and be so sad? I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear and straighten one of the straps over her shoulder. I offer a weak smile, anything to convey how truly sorry I am to her. If I could stop this from happening I would, but we're both stuck.

When they're lead away and Derek shows me to our seats I'm surprised to feel a lump rising in my throat. Just last year Cam could have been in her place. A thirteen-year-old has no chance in The Hunger Games. While it's horrible to watch anyone die, regardless of age, gender, or district, there's something particularly haunting about the young ones. There's still the innocence in their eyes, the plush cheeks and small stature. I know I'll remember her face until I die. I'll remember all of them.


	40. Chapter 40

"I don't know if I told you, but I'm seeking sanctuary

You'll never guess the things that I do

I'll have the devil round for tea

Don't you know that I'm here beside you

Can't you see that I can't relax"

~New Order

When we get back to our quarters, Derek sits Marcus and Milena down at the table, letting them sip some elaborate hot chocolate. The silence between the four of us is palpable, so thick I can feel it scraping my throat. Even Karina has the sense not to interrupt. It's Milena, in her small, gentle voice that cuts through it.

"What's going to happen tomorrow?" she whispers.

She looks over at Marcus, who seems just as unsure as her. "We'll be okay" he affirms, sending a pang of worry through me. I still don't like the idea of an alliance. Getting close to anyone can only hurt you. One way or another, at least one of them has to die, and working together will only make it worse.

Milena doesn't seem convinced by Marcus's words. Her eyes fall to me, waiting to hear what I have to say. For as abrasive as I can be, I haven't lied. I didn't spare details even when Derek told me to. I'm ready to remind them of their chances, to tell them to just let go easily, but something in her eyes stops me.

Derek looks over at me, clearly waiting to hear what I'll say, ready to intervene. "Well," I sigh "We'll take you up to the roof early in the morning but after that…" I shake my head, kicking myself for the feeling welling up in my chest. "After that you're with your stylists. Just remember what we told you, okay?"

They have a few last minute questions but after a few minutes we settle back into silence. It's Derek who stands first, cocking his head at the tributes to tell them to go to bed. They both nod, rising slowly and readying themselves to head down the hall. "Try to get some sleep" Derek says, slipping his hands into his pockets.

Milena nods, her arms clutching her torso. "Thank you, Derek" she whispers, her eyes flickering to me quickly. She'll see me in the morning, but after tonight she'll never see him again.

"Thanks" Marcus echoes, looking at Derek and I relatively equally.

"Go to bed" I nearly whisper to keep my voice steady. I try to smile, anything to make me seem light and carefree but it's hard. They'll die and I'm going to add their names to the list of ghosts running through my head.

They bid Karina an additional thanks and disappear into their rooms and I can't help but stare after them. How much longer do they have to live?

Both Derek and I return to our seats at the table, staring at each other as we sip at some fancy wine. Even Karina seems to have succumbed to the melancholy and keeps her mouth shut. Between the three of us, we make it through two bottles of wine. Admittedly, most of its drunk by me and Derek, but for the first time I find Karina tolerable company.

My mind whirls with thoughts. I know I should sleep – I've hardly had the chance with my late nights. I have to be up early anyway, and I already know I won't be sleeping until their hearts have stopped beating. Will they sleep at all? Will I? It's strange. The night before my Games, I was scared, sure, but it didn't seem real. I went to bed, I slept dreamlessly, and in the morning I was composed. But right now, with the guarantee of my life, I feel more hopeless than ever.

From the corner of the room, an avox approaches. I nod when he offers me more wine, but before he can pour, Karina clears her throat, stopping him. "I think perhaps you've had enough."

I pause, looking up at her with coldness in my eyes. "You aren't my mother," I snap. Turning towards the avox, I offer up my glass. "Fill it up."

"Johanna" Karina begins, "you've had an awful lot, I don't think you need-"

"-You have no idea what I need" I shoot back angrily.

I give her a hard stare, daring her to say anything more. She looks back at me, though she thankfully has the sense to shut her mouth. Taking silence as his que, the avox goes and pours me another glass, stopping only when I nod at him.

Suddenly turned off at the idea of sitting out here, I get to my feet, taking the glass with me. When I finally make it back to my room I can feel the exhaustion nagging at me. I'm so afraid of the dreams that even the comfort of the blankets isn't enough to lull me to sleep. I down the rest of the wine, silently wishing for more before curling up. My hand is clasped over my necklace, the presence of the two small charms comforting. My eyes stare blankly at the wall, fighting the images of the blood and terror soon to come. I'm so tense that I can feel my legs start cramping at the effort. One misplaced word or movement could set me over the edge. My stomach is writhing violently and my throat is constricting with each breath, protecting itself against the rising anxiety. I wish it was over already.

I don't remember falling asleep but I'm awoken every few hours by body-shaking spasms and screams that echo through the room. I'm so tired that I can't fight dozing off a few minutes after each dream, but each time I do, I'm up almost immediately after. Dawn comes eventually, the sky in the distance releasing its black mask in exchange for increasingly lighter shades of purple and blue.

My stomach churns as I stand. I press my hand into my abdomen, willing myself not to puke. I know it's dumb, but I change out of my pajamas and run a brush through my hair. I don't think it'll make much difference but I don't want Milena to think I'm going to send her away and go back to bed.

She's fast asleep when I knock on her door. The second she opens her eyes I can see the terror in her face. I'm the last person she wants to wake up to, and I can't blame her. "Come on" I murmur as kindly as I can "it's time to get up."

She's silent as she moves, dressing with shaky hands. I offer her food but she refuses. I could try to change her mind but the thought of eating myself seems like a very bad idea. Neither of us say much as she gets ready, but I can see her eyes dart to me every few seconds, her lips parting for a moment then shutting again. Only when she's ready and I'm about to walk her to the elevator does she straighten up, facing me with determination.

"I have a brother…" she says, her voice working hard to stay strong.

I nod curtly, "I know."

She bites her lip, flexing her fingers once before dashing over to the table beside her bed and pulling a folded paper from the drawer. She walks back to me slowly, twirling the paper like she doesn't want me to be seeing it.

"Could you give this to him for me?" she asks. My eyes fall to the letter like a magnet. How could I say no? I press my lips together, swallowing the intense wave of sadness. If only I had thought of that. At least her brother will have something of hers to remember, something to hold when his world falls apart. I don't even have that.

I look up from the paper, meeting her tear-filled eyes. "Of course" I whisper, accepting the letter in my hands. I hold it tightly, like it was meant for me, from my sister, out of the grave. "Whatever you need."

"His name is Chris" she says. "He's at the Community Home. He shouldn't be hard to find."

I nod again, keeping quiet. I can see how much talking about him hurts her. No one should ever have to feel to agony she's in, especially not a thirteen-year-old girl. Her poor brother. He'll be alone and every day he'll remember Milena and wish he could have done something to save her.

I keep the letter in my hand as we walk to the elevator. I remember my own ascent to the roof. There's no other way to describe it than to feel like your life is being ripped away. I put my hand on her shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze when the doors open to reveal the intimidating hovercraft. I'm so literally leading the cow to slaughter. I can't help her; I can't save her. A sideways glance at her only confirms my fear: I want to protect her. I want to make her feel safe, to know that even in the end she won't be alone. The arena is the loneliest place on earth. There's nothing that's reminds you of how very alone you are until you're face to face with your own mortality.

Before she reaches the ladder, I stop her. "You'll be okay" I say. The way she nods tells me she understands what I mean – that she won't be coming out alive. "I'll be watching the whole time" I add, "so will Chris."

Her face becomes pinched at her brother's name and for a brief second I think she's going to cry. She's been so brave through all of this. A few years later and she could have made it out of this. She has the spirit, but not much else.

It takes me by surprise when she throws her arms around me, engulfing me in a desperate hug. I hold her back, trying to send all the encouragement I can into her. I know it's probably out of fear, out of desire for comfort and not because I actually deserve it, but I can't resist holding her back.

"Thank you" she whispers against me. I can only nod in response. If I open my mouth I'm afraid of what will come out, so when I'm forced to pull her away, I can only give her the feeblest of smiles.

I step back when she turns to the hovercraft. Her tracker is injected and she resumes her climb. My hair blows in the wind and the chill of the morning raises goosebumps on my bare arms. I stay there, watching the door in the hovercraft long after Milena is out of sight. A Peacekeeper standing silently to the side mumbles something, telling me I have to go so the next tribute can come. I nod slowly, taking a few steps backwards before turning my back and returning to the cold embrace of the elevator.


	41. Chapter 41

"You can't live without the fire

It's the heat that makes you strong

'Cause you're born to live and fight it all away

You can't hide what lies inside you

It's the only thing you've known"

~Within Temptation

I get back downstairs in a fog. Derek isn't anywhere to be found which surprises me. He's so steady, so dependable. He's almost always waiting for me. I try to ignore it, though. Even he needs his space every once in a while; sending kids off to the arena doesn't make for a happy morning. I can feel the nausea burning in my stomach and the ever present fury. I get in the shower, hoping to relax a little but I just end up feeling suffocated by the steam and have to get out.

When I make it back into the main room, Derek is back from wherever he disappeared to. He tries to get me to eat but I can hardly stomach a single bite of eggs, let alone an entire meal. My stomach is churning so violently that if I placed my hand there I'm sure I could feel it writhing beneath my skin. I breathe deeply, counting my breaths as I wait for Derek's cue to head downstairs. My face won't give away the fear I feel. _No one_ will know how much pain I'm in.

When Derek finally sighs and admits that we should be heading down to the control room, I find myself instilled with a new type of fear. We ride the elevator in silence and, thankfully, alone. Sweat rises on the back of my neck when I find myself greeted by the many Victors already here before us. I immediately notice Finnick in the center of the room with a tall, dark haired woman. In the back of the room there's laughter, way too loud and messy to be appropriate. Haymitch Abernathy. Despite his drunkenness he's still incredibly famous for winning the quarter quell, the thought of which he currently seems to be drinking away with a dark skinned man. I recognize Shane and Enobaria from 2, who both give me bloodthirsty glares as I follow Derek past them. I grit my teeth, staring forward after returning their glare, trying not to make eye contact with anyone else. If I can make it to my seat without a confrontation, I'll be relieved. It'd be easier if none of them were here.

I fall into my chair, relieved that no one seems to be in the mood for talking. I prop my elbows on the table in front of me, massaging my scalp in the vain hopes that it'll banish my headache. Derek asks if I want coffee, disappearing when I give him a quick nod, my eyes pinched closed. He returns quickly – faster than I'd like. I don't sip the warm liquid, but instead I clutch the mug, feeling the warmth spread into my hands. I chew on my lip, jumping when Haymitch lets out another drunken laugh. If I was confident on my stomach's ability not to puke, I'd shut him up, but instead I cover my eyes with my hand, breathing in the steam of the coffee.

Derek's hand lands gently on my shoulder, the squeeze reassuring. "You've done well" he says.

"Highly doubtful" I mutter as I sip the coffee, feeling it burn the inside my mouth but sipping it nonetheless. "How much longer?" I whisper, watching the dark brown swirl in the mug.

He shrugs, turning to look behind him. I follow his gaze, biting hard into my cheek when, for the first time, I see the countdown in the center of the room. "Fifteen minutes" he confirms.

I keep staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick away. "What do I do?" I murmur, feeling completely useless for the thousandth time.

"All you can do is watch – at least at the Cornucopia."

I make a face, feeling the acid in my stomach slosh around. Haymitch and his companion let out another round of laughter, drawing my attention from the screen in front of me to the rest of the room. A few other Victors are sitting at their stations like me, but at least half are standing, talking and laughing with each other. How can they be so calm about this? Surely they realize what's going to happen in the next… _thirteen_ minutes. The Games are about to begin _again_ and they don't even care. I'm fighting the flashbacks and terror, hardly able to even sit calmly, let alone have a normal conversation.

My head is held in my hands, my eyes are squeezed shut and I'm counting my breaths. Each time I check the time on the clock my heart lurches into my throat. I clench my jaw tighter each time someone laughs or speaks too loudly. The sudden silence is what catches my attention and I cautiously look up.

Claudius Templesmith is on the center screen, beginning his yearly introduction to " _the main event_." Cameras switch rapidly between him and the arena, presenting this year's landscape of hell. I chew on my cheek until it bleeds, watching with rising horror. There's almost no trees, just small bushes that run on seemingly forever. There are tall plateaus, covered in barren rock and cacti. Hiding will be difficult, and running will be nearly impossible. I realize now that I got lucky, an arena that I was used to, an environment I knew how to manipulate.

My attention is pulled by a round of swearing behind me. Haymitch again. His hands are fumbling with a new bottle, unable to open it in his stupor. I roll my eyes, noticing Derek looking at him too. He watches Haymitch with pity, almost sadness. He mentioned to me that the two of them used to be friends. The idea seems to alien to me. Though, I've seen how Derek can drink and he could definitely keep up with Haymitch if he wanted to.

Derek notices me looking at him and offers a weak smile. "Everyone handles it differently" he says, turning back to watch the screens. I let my gaze linger a moment longer, wondering if it's truly his demons he's drinking to escape or if he just doesn't know how to be sober anymore.

Claudius's booming voice makes me jump. I find that, the longer I watch the harder it is to look away. My fingers are flexing at my side, falling to the edge of my chair in an instinctual search for a weapon when they show the mutts. This year the Gamemakers have apparently decided to add in plenty of natural competition as well. There's cats, birds so small that it makes my mouth fall open when they show how they can shear the skin clear off a bone in a matter of seconds, wolf-bear hybrid things, and some strange two-legged lizard- _thing_ as tall as I am. I swallow the acid rising in my throat when one of the creatures lets out a shriek. It's impossible not remember a similar sound when my own leg was ripped open and it was _my_ life on the line.

Then, as if at the flip of a switch, the screens turn to black. I furrow my eyebrows, confused for a moment when the sudden fanfare and burst of light takes over. One the screen in front of me is the cornucopia, in a half moon around it are twenty-four pedestals, on which the tributes are emerging. It makes my head swim. I purse my lips, focusing on breathing so that I don't pass out.

Each of the tributes flash across the screen, so fast that it's hard to decipher any of them from the mix. But thanks to my oh so luxurious title, an additional screen is settled between me and Derek, split in half – one side showing Marcus, the other Milena. I stare at her. Her pair is pulled back tightly, falling down to her shoulder blades over the thin, tan jacket they all wear. Her fingers are twitching, much like mine. I hope she knows I'm watching.

Marcus, an entire eighteen pedestals away from her, is completely calm. There's an eerie sensation watching him, like he's a God, something ethereal, prepared for sacrifice. He'd always been relatively laid back, even when snapping at me – I hope this is just him preparing himself, not shutting down. I notice the young girl from 11 beside him, visibly trembling, her arms swinging at her sides. There's a mix of emotions amongst them, but everyone, as the clock ticks down, readies themselves. _I hope they run fast_ I find myself thinking.

When the gong sounds my heart nearly stops. I suck in my breath as the tributes launch themselves from their pedestals and chaos breaks loose. As soon as they begin reaching the cornucopia I see a boy get speared through the throat. I tear my eyes away from the blood, turning back to Milena. She's fast, surprisingly fast, but I don't miss her near miss with one of the Careers. She finds Marcus, who scoops up two knives before pulling her by the arm into the thick desert brush.

Once I know they're safe, free from the cornucopia and not being followed, I look back to the main screen. The girl from 6 takes down the boy from 8. The camera doesn't miss a second of her cutting his throat in an aggressive slash.

The Careers, as per usual, slice their way through a terrifying number of tributes. I find myself holding my breath as I glance between the blood bath and my own tributes. I feel a small sense of relief they made it out of the blood bath, but I also know that means they'll meet an even worse end.

By the time the fighting stops, ten are dead; the girl from 3, both from 5, the boy from 6, both from 8, both from 9, the boy from 10, and both from 12. The Careers all made it out unscathed, as well as some other particularly strong tributes from the outer districts.

I turn my head when the mentors from 8 and 9 both get up to leave, all of them silent and stone faced. I stare at them with shock, amazed at how quickly they've moved on. That's when I notice the others are already gone – namely the bug-eyed, drugged up man from 6 and Haymitch. Derek gives me an impartial shrug, not seeming bothered at all by their departure. I stare at the door, biting hard into my cheek. I wonder what it's like after twenty years of this, thirty years, or more. Some of these Victors have been here for so long. Has this become routine to them, the death and horror? It doesn't seem possible that I could ever join their ranks. As soon as I stop receiving my _invitation_ , I'm done. But of course, that first means getting another female victor to take my place. And losing the interest of my many nightly suitors.

I push the other Victors from my mind and turn back Marcus and Milena. They're both drenched in sweat, only stopping their run when the cannon fires the death tally. Milena winces slightly when she adjusts her jacket and I notice that the knife from the cornucopia nicked her shoulder. It's not bad but infection is always a worry.

I find my fingers tracing over the invisible scar on my arm as I watch them. They move on after a brief rest, doing as Derek and I told them and getting as far away as possible. True to their title as District 7 kids, they pull themselves into a squatty scrub tree to rest.

I was wrong before about the arena being flat and lifeless. The canyons run much deeper than I thought, the plateaus soaring even higher. There are countless dead ends, the whole arena more or less resembling a labyrinth. It will be all too easy to get cornered. But there's still time. Ten are gone and fourteen are left playing.

The fucking Hunger Games have begun once again.


	42. Chapter 42

p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""(One minute you're on top)/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"The next you're not, watch it drop/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"(Making your heart stop)/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Just before you hit the floor/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"(One minute you're on top)/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Next you're not, missed your shot/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"(Making your heart stop)/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"You think you've won/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"(And then it's all gone)/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"~Linkin Park/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Derek gets up sometime around eight, leaving me alone to stare blindly at the screens. He comes back almost an hour later, looking even more tired than when he left. His hand touches my shoulder gently, like he's trying not to frighten me. "Go to bed, there's nothing left to do tonight. Get some sleep" he murmurs./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""No" I snap, sitting up straighter. My eyes are strained as I watch Marcus and Milena, but I won't stop watching. They're exhausted and afraid but they don't have a bedroom to escape to. They found water a little while ago after another hour of trekking./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Can we drink it?" Milena asks, turning around to look at Marcus who is quietly surveying the area. She managed to grab a backpack but there weren't any purifying tablets inside. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Marcus looks down at the tiny stream, his jaw clenching and unclenching as he thinks. "We need water. Let's hope it's not contaminated." /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"As far as I can tell, none of the water sources are poisoned but that doesn't stop my stomach from clenching when they swallow. I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, refusing to look at Derek, whose eyes are boring into me. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Johanna-" /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""No" I snarl, cutting him off. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I press my fingers into my temple, ignoring the sad brown eyes staring at me. I notice the movement of his head from the corner of my eyes, drawing my attention behind me. Finnick is a few feet away, clearly looking over at me and Derek. He takes my attention as a cue to walk over. I bite into my cheek, turning back around as he approaches. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Derek's right, you know" he starts, making me roll my eyes. "Better to sleep now than pass out later. There's no point staying now anyway."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I turn my head to the side, giving him a long stare. No point? I open my mouth, ready to argue but he raises his hand./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""You know that's not what I meant."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I make a face, turning to look at Derek and then back at Finnick. He has a point; there's no telling how long Milena and Marcus will last and for right now at least, they're safe. I'm more tired than normal for the time, but the sheer effort of making it through the day mixed with not sleeping last night, I feel ready to pass out. I press my lips tightly together, staring at Milena's exhausted face as she settles in to sleep./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""I'll get you if anything happens" Derek assures./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I sigh, ready to cave. Still, something feels wrong about leaving them. What if there's not enough time? What If they die and I miss it? I told her I'd be watching. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Come on" Finnick says, offering me his hand. I look at it for a long moment, debating taking it or not. Finally, I brush it away, standing by myself. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""You tell me if em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"anything/em happens" I growl at Derek, giving him an acidic look. He takes it in stride, nodding and waving me away as if I were a pesky child./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I turn quickly, swallowing down the guilt of leaving. "You don't have to babysit me" I say to Finnick when he catches up to me as I push out of the control room. He smiles, his teeth annoyingly style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanem style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;""I'm not a child/em."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Of course not" he replies somewhat sarcastically. I reach out to hit the button for my floor but he stops me, instead hitting the four. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I turn my head to him, raising my eyebrows in a silent question /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""I make it a rule not to give children alcohol" he laughs when the doors open. I warily follow him to the couch, sitting cross legged while he surveys the many bottles on the wall. I watch him with pursed lips, wondering what could possibly be going through his head./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-tab-count: 1;" /spanI think I should be upset – annoyed at the very least, but I can't muster the energy. The relief I feel is almost tangible. Of course I don't want to sleep. Going to bed, closing my eyes – hell, even being alone leaves me exposed and I don't know if I can handle the nightmares sleep is destined to bring. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""So," I start when he returns with glasses in hand. "This is why you wanted me to leave? So we could drink?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"He shrugs, still smiling wickedly. "I'm not going to force you if you don't want to."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I hesitate for a moment, seriously debating getting up and leaving. Going back to my room means being alone, going back downstairs means facing Derek and the Games – and between those, this is the least painful option. "Of course I do" I mumble, watching him pour the dark liquid. span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /span/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Once filled, he pushes a glass towards me, which I carefully lift. He falls onto the couch beside me, sighing heftily as he does so like it physically pains him. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Not too much though" he sighs, taking a long drink. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I look down at the liquid, resolving to taking a drink myself. I struggle to keep a straight face and swallow heavily. Alcohol, of any sort, has never been my drink of choice, but I understand the appeal. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""No?" I ask "I thought you em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"wanted/em to get drunk."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""Sure I do" he says, smiling again. "That just comes later. We have a job to do right now."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Even the thought of Marcus and Milena makes my stomach tighten and my throat constrict. I take another tentative drink, able to keep my face completely still at the bitter taste. I must be completely heartless to sit here, drinking comfortably while they're sleeping in a tree, waiting for at least one of their inevitable deaths. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Taking another drink, I lean my head against the back of the couch, staring up at the dark ceiling. My eyes are heavy, but I force myself to drink the entire glass, then another, not caring about the wrongness of it all. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"At what must be an absurdly late hour, I finally feel relaxed enough to look over at Finnick. His head is tipped back on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. In his hand is a half-full glass that he seems to have forgotten he's holding. It's such a different stature than the one he had on my Victory tour. There he was cocky, flashy, and something close to happy. He didn't stare off into the distance like he is now. No, all he seemed able to do was smile and look at Annie, who never left this side./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Maybe it's her. It's no secret the two of them are em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"together/em. The Capitol would never let a Victor love story slide by unnoticed. Not that it matters. People still buy and use him for all he's worth. He told me once that he never realized how hard it was, this life. Not until Annie was reaped./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""You love Annie, right?" I ask. It's a dumb question, one I know the answer to, but for some reason I need to hear it. There has to be something good in this world. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Finnick's eyebrows point down in confusion before he finally turns his head to look at me. he nods once, eyeing me curiously. "I do, yes." In his eyes I can see the swirling that comes with the drinks. He's had a lot. Hell, em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"I've/em had a lot./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I make a quiet noise, taking another sip before leaning forward. "What if she hadn't survived the Games?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Finnick's mouth presses into a thin line. Without hesitation he shakes his head. "I wasn't going to let that happen."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""But what if-?"/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';""em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"No/em" he interrupts, stopping me cold. His face is deathly serious as he evaluates me. "There wasn't a chance in hell I was going to let her die in there. I worked my ass off to keep her safe. I'm em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"still/em paying back those debts."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I raise my eyebrows at him. That's the first time I've heard him admit he interfered. I always assumed, but no one ever said it aloud. Slowly, I sit forward, setting my empty glass on the table. "She's lucky. To have someone that would do that for her."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"To my surprise, Finnick snorts. I meant it sincerely, but he seems to take it as a cruel joke. I make a questioning face at him. In response, he just shakes his head, downing the rest of his glass. "I didn't do everything I could've. I should've done more. Maybe then she'd be… better."/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I narrow my eyes, trying to determine if he's being serious. When I realize he's em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"not/em joking, I lean forward, slapping him across the face. It's not hard, but enough to get his attention./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"He blinks at me, shocked. I look back at him sternly, crossing my arms in front of me. "Knock that shit off, Finnick" I sigh, "em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"you/em of all people don't get to feel guilty for that./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I look at him and can't fight the small smile forming on my lips. It's so not-funny, but I can't help but laugh. I slapped em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Finnick Odair. /emFor a moment, his face is firm. I almost think he's angry when he gives me a perfect, beaming grin. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"span style="mso-spacerun: yes;" /spanI shake my head, still smiling and give Finnick one last, long look before I let my eyes fall closed against my better judgment./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: .5in;" align="center"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"***/span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"It's dawn when I wake up. The first thing I notice is Finnick, sleeping soundly on the couch beside me. It feels strange, waking up here, beside em style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"Finnick Odair/em of all people. I would expect to feel guilty, or something like it, but I don't. My throat aches with the swelling of tears. I sit up straight, leaning my head back against the couch. With my eyes closed I would swear I was at home, waking up next to Johnathan after I had a nightmare or some other prepubescent crisis. He made me feel safe, feel cared for, and right now, for the first time in years, I feel the same thing./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Finnick wakes up soon after, seemingly unsurprised to find himself on the couch, or me beside him. He beams at me and I can't stop myself from smiling back. There's something to say for spending a night sitting and drinking with someone – you learn a lot and give a lot. Maybe he did it on purpose, frankly I don't care, but I haven't been as open as I was last night since I won. Maybe in my whole life. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Finnick insists on breakfast, though I'm not feeling up to it. Already at the table is Jemma, his dark-haired, red-lipped beauty of a partner. She gives me a quiet look, not quite disgusted but not quiet friendly either. With her is an old woman, surprisingly old. I'm not even sure I recognize her as a Victor until Finnick introduces her as Mags. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"The two women leaves almost as soon as we sit down. Finnick shrugs at me but doesn't seem to care, though he lets Megs kiss his cheek before she shuffles away after Jemma. I want to shower, or change my clothes, but I also don't want to spend any more time away from the control room. Finnick seems to agree, and as soon as he's done eating we head back downstairs./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Derek is sitting there, one hand frozen in his hair, the other tapping anxiously on his leg. The clear anxiety immediately sends my stomach churning, wondering who died. "What happened?" I ask, gripping the back of my chair. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Derek turns to me, jumping at my sudden presence. "Nothing, they woke up a few hours ago…" his eyes slowly trail back to the screens. Clearly something is wrong but all I can see are Milena and Marcus, huddled in the shade, sharing some bread from their backpack. "There's someone…" Derek murmurs, gesturing to the main screen. Sure enough, the girl from 10 is coming straight towards them, just as unaware of their presence as they are of hers. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I sit in my chair, watching in horror as she moves slowly closer to them. There's a big gash across her side, but she's fit, tall, strong and armed with a huge knife. It takes her at least another half hour before she gets close enough that I know a confrontation is inevitable./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Marcus notices her first, pulling Milena quickly into the tree's cover. They both stand there, each gripping their own knife as she comes closer. The girl walks to the stream, never noticing the two standing to the side until it's too late. Marcus digs the knife into her neck – her blood spraying wildly for a few seconds before the cannon booms and she slumps to the dry ground. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Marcus seems okay as he returns to Milena. I'd silently hoped they'd both be dead before they had to kill anyone, that way they wouldn't have to know what it felt like. But he keeps a straight face, even offering Milena a small smile. They both drink more water, standing for a moment at the stream's edge before deciding to move off for the Gamemakers to collect her body./span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"I swallow the bile in my mouth, leaning back with relief. As awful as it is, for the two of them it couldn't have gone much better. They weren't hurt and they get to live for a little bit longer. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"Most of the other tributes are already up and moving. The girl from 11 is the first to run into any of the mutts, which she barley survives her encounter with. The boy from 11 is less lucky – getting most of his leg torn off by the two-legged reptilian creature before managing to throw himself down a cliff, somehow surviving the fall and blood loss. There's no way he'll survive the next few hours; either he'll bleed out or more mutts will come across him. Other than that, not much happens. The tributes are still getting their bearings and the Gamemakers aren't desperate for action yet. /span/p  
p class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;"span style="font-size: 11.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman';"By night the boy dies, leaving half of the playing field gone. The Careers joke about it, the girl from 2 sickeningly describing what she plans to do with the next person they catch. It's enough for me to understand what Finnick meant last night. As soon as this is over, getting drunk enough to pass out for a few hours will be a mercy./span/p 


	43. Chapter 43

"We are all stranger creatures than when we all started out as kids

Culture forbids,

We have romantic fantasies about what dying truly is

Fall off the grid"

~Twenty-One Pilots

A few more days pass with relative ease. Every night but one I end up with Finnick, drinking and talking until we both fall asleep beside each other on the couch. There's nothing romantic about it and neither of us want it that way. I have Vinny and he has Annie, but it's just not possible for them to be the type of support and security we need so, somehow, we've turned to each other in a strange, twisted sort of friendship. Other than Vinny, I've never made friends with someone so easily or quickly. Finnick and I in the course of a week have shared secrets, fears, and worse, and more mornings that one I've woken to my head on his shoulder.

It's the sixth day of the Games, at least I think so; it's hard to keep the days straight with so little sleep. All the Victors know something's going to happen; no one's died in almost two days, which is completely unacceptable. What none of us expect is for the Gamemakers to go after the Careers.

A pack of at least ten wolf mutts come at them in the evening, ripping them apart. They take out the girl from 1 immediately, eventually getting her district partner, too. The chaos of the attack sends the Careers into a frenzy. They work together initially, killing most of the mutts before the boys from 2 and 4 realize the opportunity and turn on the others. They kill the girl from 2 and injure the girl from 4 but she manages to run off before they can finish her. In an instant the Careers have disbanded, one alone and injured and the two alpha males left to work together.

I wonder what Finnick thinks about it, his tribute turning on his allies, killing his partner from District 4. Is he mad at him? Disappointed he would hurt his own district's chances? But isn't that what I did? I killed Kane, I took away a very likely Victor from my district to save myself. The good of the whole doesn't seem to matter much when you're the odd one out.

I get up brashly. I can't stand watching anyone else die for now. That was a lot of excitement. Too much. The Gamemakers will be reeling in it for a while, there's not much of a chance Marcus and Milena will have a run in with anything. I unintentionally walk over to Finnick, who is sitting down, his held in his hand like he's bored but I can see the strain in his eyes. He watches his screen for a while after I move next to him, his eyes flickering back and forth as his tribute celebrates his victory. Finally, he looks up at me, more tired than I've ever seen him.

From our left I notice a woman, probably in her late forties, starring over at me. Her eyes are curious but soft and she ducks her head away as soon as I notice her. It's from the other direction, the Victors from 2 – Shane and Enobaria, are starring daggers at me. They wear matching smirks, like I've somehow humiliated myself, proved their superiority. Unlike the other woman, they don't pretend not to be watching me. I meet Enobaria's glare, knowing I match the level of acidity behind it. With a silent snarl I shake my head, electing to ignore her. I drop my hand down to the back of Finnick's chair, my fingers touching his shoulder.

I don't put up a fight when Finnick chooses to leave – I'm feeling claustrophobic from the stuffy room, anyway. As we have every night, we end up on his couch, talking quietly and ignoring anything that might be happening below. It feels a lot like mourning, the way neither of us seem to raise our voice very high, or the way the silence seems to have weight between us.

Derek knows to come find me if anything happens to our tributes, so I don't feel too bad anymore spending time away from the screens and other Victors. There's only so long you can sit there, waiting for something to happen.

"Don't you feel bad, staying up here?" I ask Finnick. We're sitting on couches opposite each other, our feet propped on the table between us.

He shakes his head with a shrug. "Sometimes," he says with a cynical smirk. "Not much I can do right now, no matter where I am."

"That hopeless?" I laugh

"Pretty much."

I let out another sharp laugh, holding my head in my hand. "Welcome to the club."

He chuckles softly. " _Please_. I've _been_ in the club. _You're_ the newbie."

We both fall silent, smiling to ourselves. It strikes me how dark our humor has become. I've always been one to laugh at something inappropriate, but this is otherworldly.

After some time, I leave to take a shower. Finnick left at least an hour ago, leaving me to stare boredly at the screens. The city almost looks beautiful as I ride the elevator up. At night, it's little more than a maze of lights; none of the neon paint and billboards and eccentric people below. Just twinkling lights.

I sigh, shaking my head before pushing into the silent apartment. My shower is long – the water so hot that it leaves my skin stained red. I crawl into bed and manage at least two hours of sleep before I'm torn awake by my nightmares. I stare into the early light of dawn, feeling the exhaustion in my limbs but knowing I won't go back to sleep. Strangely, I find myself wishing I weren't alone. It's embarrassing, but I've grown used to Finnick. After lying there, arguing with myself, I climb out of bed and stalk to the elevator, hitting the large, black 4.

Finnick _did_ tell me to come get him when I was going back down. Three in the morning _is_ a bit earlier than I planned, but what do I care?

His floor is just as empty as mine and momentarily I wonder if he went back to the control room. "Finnick?" I call out, walking slowly towards his room. The door is cracked open, letting me push it open silently. "Finnick?" I call again, flicking on the light. In response comes a groan.

Sitting against the far wall, hair pointed in a hundred directions, is a bedraggled, clearly drunk Finnick. I walk towards him, eyebrows raised as I consider the emptied bottle at his feet.

"Admittedly, not what I expected" I say, smirking to myself. He looks up at me, making a face. He looks so broken, sitting there. For the first time I feel truly bad for him. "Come on" I sigh, offering my hands, "get up."

Albeit begrudgingly, he allows me to pull him to his feet. "Ugh, you stink" I grumble as he finally get up, leaning on me for support.

"And you're mean" he retorts. Despite the roughness in his voice, there's a stupid smile plastered across his face.

"Don't forget it."

He stumbles once as I lead him towards the bathroom, having to hold onto the counter as I turn on the shower for him. He yelps when I push him in, the water too cold. I roll my eyes and turn it warmer, giving him a few minutes to clean himself.

It's weird, I think, standing there on the other side of the glass. I barley know Finnick, but already I'm comfortable. At least, it's not weird watching him shower, naked and humming drunkenly. I even hand him clothes to get dressed and, once he's cleaned, I stay.

"I like you, you know" he purrs, lying back on his bed, starfished out.

I sit on the edge of the mattress, watching quietly. "You're drunk."

"I am!" he exclaims. I can't help but laugh at him. He's not too far gone, just enough to make him happy – pleasantly so. I open my mouth to say something but he reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me down onto the bed with him. I can't help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it all. I'm in bed with Finnick Odair, Panem sex symbol. I've even seen him naked and, technically, kissed him, but there isn't a hint of sexual tension between us. We both lie on our backs, starring into the dark. "But I do, like you that is."

I hit him gently. "Yeah" I sigh, "I like you too."

Within minutes Finnick is fast asleep, snoring like a fiend. The thought of going back up to my bed crosses my mind, but the thought of being alone in that dark, haunted, lonely place makes me stay. I pull the blankets up over myself and Finnick, not at all bothered by our proximity.

Less than an hour after dawn Finnick becomes restless, his fingers twitching, his lips moving with nearly unperceivable sound. I bite the bottom of my lip, knowing it's a nightmare but wondering if I should wake him.

"Annie" he mumbles, catching my attention. " _Please_ " he begs, his arm jerking to the side.

I lean forward, ready to shake him awake but both of his arms suddenly tense, jerking to the side. His hand catches my arm, between my elbow and wrist, almost exactly where the knife cut me a year ago. His grasp isn't mean, or even rough, in fact it's rather gentle but it takes me by surprise.

" _Annie_ " he gasps, holding onto me tighter. I can't stop the small gasp escaping from my lips. I clamp my mouth shut, pulling slightly against him but he only holds on tighter.

"Finnick" I mumble, "Finnick wake up."

He doesn't. instead he only gets more restless, pulling on my arm each time I attempt to free it. I know he's asleep but it doesn't stop the fear from creeping up my spine. I _know_ he means no harm but somewhere my mind is screaming at me, insisting that I need to run, to fight, to get him _off_.

"Finnick" I say louder, using my free hand to try to pry away his fingers but they're locked in place. Based on the amount of difficulty its taking for me to release his hand, I expect pain, or at least to feel the pressure of his grip, but I don't. His hand, even in sleep, is careful, gentle, firm but not overbearing.

I go to wake him again but I hardly move more than an inch when he lets out a howl, something between a sob and a scream. The sound stops me dead, a wave of heat rolling from my stomach up into my throat.

"Okay" I whisper, letting my free hand rest on top of his.

He's in pain. Not physically of course, but that sound… that sound I've heard before, I've made it myself plenty of times; it's pure, animalistic agony. His jaw clenches and relaxes like he's going to speak again but he stays quiet.

His head jerks to the side violently. "Finnick" I whisper, not attempting to wake him so much anymore. "You're okay. Annie's okay."

"Annie" his voice murmurs her name.

"Yeah, Annie" I smile weakly when his hand loosens considerably. "She's okay. You're okay. Everything's okay."

Even when it's complete bullshit, sometimes all you can say is its going to be okay. It's comforting to hear, even when it's a lie because maybe, somehow it's true

I stare down when his fingers loosen and fall back onto his torso. My arm is free again but I'm still holding his hand with the other. His lips still move but already the nightmare is fading, letting him fall back into a quiet sleep. I want to help him, to comfort him. That's all I've ever wanted. I never meant to hurt anyone. I never meant for anyone to get hurt…

Only when I'm sure he's okay do I let myself lean back against the pillows, resting my head. My eyes travel back to the window but I don't look at the city. All I can see in front of me is Jonathan, smiling his perfect smile, his hand in mine where Finnick's is, telling me everything's going to be okay, that I should stop worrying. Tears well in my eyes when I hear his voice, as clear as if he were whispering into my ear.

 _"_ _I know it's not fair," he says, squeezing my hand gently "but nothing ever is. You don't need to worry about everything so much. I know it seems like nothing's ever going to change but I promise, in the blink of an eye it's all going to be different."_ I nod my head slowly, a tear rolling down my cheek. I suck in a breath when I swear, from across the room, he reaches out to brush it away.

 _"_ _I love you, Jo. Now go to bed, I'll see you in the morning."_


	44. Chapter 44

"And now there's nothing to do but scream at the drunken moon"

~Pierce the Veil

The days pass by. Two. Three. Four. They don't stop no matter how much I wish they would.

Marcus and Milena survive, longer than I expected them to, anyway. I know it's coming to an end, it had to eventually. When I wake up on Finnick's couch, my head resting on his shoulder, I don't expect to find Jemma, Finnick's tall and beautiful partner standing over me. It takes her only a second for me to understand and I'm on my feet in an instant. Mags, the sweet old lady, is sitting at the dining table, giving me sad eyes as I all but run from the room.

In the control room, I fall into my seat, my fingers digging into the material of the chair, watching Milena and Marcus sit in the shade of the canyon wall, eating some bread and completely oblivious to the pack of cat-like mutts coming straight towards them.

I'm only there for a handful of minutes before the main camera is focused on the felines prowling closer to striking distance.

"What was that?" Milena asks, jerking to attention. Marcus looks confused, unsure of what she might have heard or seen. But the sound comes again, that of a tumbling rock, the brush of leaves in the wind. I'm surprised she heard anything at all.

"What do you mean?" Marcus asks, turning to look behind him just as one of the cats lunge. The split second saves his life, giving him enough space to move so that the beast's claws dig into his arm instead of his chest. My hand falls down to my calf, massaging it to push away the phantom pain of my own attack.

Somehow Milena manages to bury a knife in the cat's neck, sending it skittering away, howling in pain. Marcus rushes to his feet, pulling his own weapon out of his belt. In the few seconds of movement, three more cats have shown up, each prowling and ready to pounce. There's no doubt they're made to kill, and that's exactly what they're here to do. The Gamemakers are bored and they know that these two scraggly kids from District 7 never had a chance so they're eliminating them with a bang. It's not fair. Rage flares through me as I stare at the screen. They don't know. The Gamemaker's _don't know_ what could happen but they're killing them anyway.

The cats work in unison. So fast that blinking would make you miss it. One throws itself at Marcus from behind, its massive paws wrapping around his neck, it's back legs digging into his back so he falls forward. Another one rushes forward at Milena, its inch-long fangs digging into her arm. The third cat makes the decision: Who will die first?

I press my hand into my mouth to keep from screaming when it clamps its mouth around Marcus's neck. I can see the blood immediately. His neck is shredded; even if they let go now there's no chance he could survive.

I force myself to look away, to focus on Milena. She's screaming, beating at the cat on her arm. She has the sense to dig her fingers into its eyes, its scream giving her the chance to rip her arm free. The shriek she makes at the skin ripping from her arm is enough to make my stomach heave with sour nausea. I press my hand harder against my mouth. I will _not_ be sick right now.

She runs but there's nowhere to go. Cliff walls hang high above her and the scrubby bushes and trees offer no protection. Yet she runs, pushed faster than ever before by adrenalin. Her head whips around when Marcus's cannon booms, pain etched into her face. Her partner is dead and now she's alone.

The cats leave his mangled and bloody body, drawn in by the enticement of still fleeing prey. Milena is fast, but the cats are faster. They toy with her, running just slow enough to stay behind her. They're letting her run herself to exhaustion. But she runs ever faster, following the curve of the canyon until she stops suddenly. It's a dead end. She whirls around to face the cats, her knife gripped tightly in her hand, a mere toothpick in comparison to the cat's fangs. There's a moment where she looks terrified, her face molded into a mask of horror, but it takes a low grumble from one of the cats to make it fall. Almost unperceivably, I see her nod her head. She knows what's going to happen.

Bored already with the chase, the cats lunge at her, one sweeping her feet out from under her, another pouncing on her chest. Her chest heaves when teeth dig into her neck and even through the speakers I can hear her sputtering and coughing through the blood. She's struggling against them, kicking and swinging in vain. My chest feels like it's being ripped open along with hers, my heart being torn apart and stomped on.

I flinch when Derek lightly touches my arm but I don't look at him. My eyes are burning with tears – tears of agony, of sorrow, of rage. I can't cry now, not here. I told her it would be okay, I told her I'd be watching and I'm not breaking that promise. I swallow heavily, rapidly blinking against the tears. I will not cry here. I _won't_ cry.

For a few seconds she keeps kicking until slowly, as if in a dream, her limbs slow and fall limply to the ground. Every camera is on her, showing her death. In the last few moments, the screen zooms in on her face, bloody yes, in pain of course, but resolved to her fate. Her lips twitch, like she's saying something, but no one will ever hear what it is. With a final, desperate heave of her chest, her eyes turn glossy and the cannon booms. The sound hits me like a train, shattering every bone in my body. As soon as its done, I push away from the table, ready to run from the room.

"Johanna" Derek calls, jumping to his feet after me. I walk quickly, not allowing him or anyone to stop me. I refuse to be in here a moment longer. Let them think me callous for leaving so soon, for disappearing the moment her heart stopped beating. I don't care anymore.

Finnick appears out of nowhere just before I reach the door. He takes hold of one of my arms but I wrench it back with enough force to make me stumble a step. I clench my jaw, pushing him out of the way as I nearly run into the hall. Both Derek and Finnick follow me as I cross to the elevator, jamming my fist repeatedly into the button. I want to yell at them, tell them to leave me alone, but I'm afraid that if I open my mouth I won't be able to do anything but scream.

I push into the elevator before the doors are even completely open, hoping to close them again before they can come in with me but also knowing that's not possible. They're both watching me, not sure what to say or do. I press my back against the cool metal wall, squeezing my eyes shut to keep the tears hidden. I can't do this. I can't.

There's a howling in my ears, ringing through my skull. Everything is so loud; our breathing, Finnick running his fingers through his hair, my own heartbeat, the gears of the elevator. I want to scream; make it all stop. "Jo, there's nothing you could have done" Finnick says gently.

"You think I don't know that?" I snap, my eyes opening to stare at him. The elevator comes to a stop with a small jerk. I set my jaw and burst through the doors as soon as there's room. "I can't do anything" I growl, throwing my arms in the air "that's the whole fucking point."

I'm hardly more than a few steps into the room before Derek catches up to me. He grabs my elbow, momentarily pulling me to a stop. "What are you doing?"

Derek keeps a firm hold on my arm, his eyes holding me in place as much as his hand. I look back at him, anger surging through me. "Nothing that concerns you." I clench my jaw tightly, refusing to be the first to look away. I stare at him until he gives in and drops his gaze.

"You can talk to me" he says calmly.

"And what should I say?" I spit, the grief thick in my voice. "What good does talking do?" I rip my arm away from him, feeling my face flush.

He drops his arm slowly. He means well, I know that much, but all I want is for him and everyone else to just leave, to let me go. "I want to help" he pleads, eyes worried. But I turn away, pressing my lips tightly together to resist the urge to run back to my room.

I don't want to be here but I can't think of anywhere else to go. Milena and Marcus were here, Kane was here, everyone who died was here. It feels like they're all just around the corner or in the other hall. My head pulses, wrapping the shadows around me until I can hardly see. My hands start to shake first, quickly spreading up my arms, into my torso and down towards my legs. There's quiet knock at the door before it opens, whoever it is not caring whether or not I want to let them in. I wish I had thought to lock it behind me.

I straighten myself, clenching jaw and wrapping my hands into fists to hide the shaking. "What?" I growl, ready to scream and fight and do whatever I need to be alone. I stop with my mouth open when I face Finnick. The way he watches me, the tremble in his throat as he swallows… I can't stand it; I can't fight it anymore. A quick breath, and I let myself fall apart.

Finnick closes the door behind him and comes towards me. He sits down beside me on the edge of my bed but I push him away. I want to be alone. I want to toil in my agony. I was responsible for them, and the ache of their death is burning in my chest.

Marcus was strong, young sure, but capable. He had a younger brother who he cared for. His income, his work, his presence is suddenly gone. Its superficial, I know, but I know the pain of losing a provider makes grief so much worse. I wonder how much they'll struggle without him. I hope they won't die but I know they'll suffer. His whole life is gone in the blink of an eye, each memory of him, as a crying baby, a toddler wobbling, a child playing with friends, are all for nothing. Everything he could be, anything he could've done is taken, stolen from him. If they're lucky they'll keep on living, making enough money to stay fed and warm, and hopefully keep hold of their last son.

Milena was much the same. She had her brother, and only her brother. She would have been great someday, strong and beautiful, smart and ferocious, but she was just too young. She needed to go home, perhaps more than I did. Her brother depended on her, relied on her for almost everything, and now he's left alone at the Community Center with no one to fight for him. If what she said was true, he had no one left. No friends, no allies, no one to tell him they loved him and it would that all be okay one day.

And it was up to me to bring them home.

My hands ache like I personally tore out their throats. The sight of the blood still burns behind my eyes and I know it'll never go away. They'll be in every dream with the others. I know the agony of feeling claws tearing you apart, having something completely inhuman ripping apart your skin, I just can't imagine what it must have felt like to lose.

Maybe it would have been better that way.

I don't know when I let Finnick come closer, but I realize that I'm leaning against him, crying into his shirt. I feel like I was just drowned, my lungs still desperate for air. I let Finnick sit beside me, his arm pulling me close in a comforting gesture. I squeeze my eyes shut, listening to the crackle in my ears, wishing he would leave but grateful he won't.

It must have been torture, feeling your own throat get torn out from under you. Marcus must have been so afraid, feeling the claws sink into his skin. I can still see their final, desperate kicks at the beasts. I can see Milena's face, just before she died, as she accepted what would be her last seconds. The cameras hardly showed her bravery, deciding instead to film the gore. Whatever she may have thought or felt hardly mattered compared to footage of her body being shredded.

I can feel as my chest sucks in, unable to tolerate the pain any longer. Maybe if I never open my eyes I'll stop feeling. Maybe I should've never fought so hard in the first place.

Suddenly, in my mind's act of defiance, a sob racks my body, forcing an inhale so large it makes my stomach churn. Finnick holds me tighter, his fingers holding on to my arm. "Just breathe" he tells me.

"Why?" I hiss, straightening. I push Finnick away so that he moves off a bit. "Don't fucking touch me" I cry, hunching forwards against the pain in my stomach. My arms arm shaking and my head is spinning as I stare down at the floor, blurred by angry tears.

Finnick shakes his head, his eyes looking at me with so much pity and sadness. Tentatively he moves closer, so cautious and concerned that it takes me aback. "What can I do?" he asks. I stare into his eyes, drowning in the blues and greens all washing over each other. He's searching my face, staring into my soul as we look at each other.

"Nothing" I say as calmly as I can. I stand up slowly, feeling guilty when Finnick backs away from me as I pass. "My head hurts" I add as I walk into the bathroom.

He follows me closely, though maintaining a few feet of distance in case I get upset again. "Yeah, I bet it does."

I roll my eyes, pausing when I meet his eyes in the mirror. "Will you stop?" I ask through gritted teeth, turning back around to face him. "I don't know why you're even here. It's not your job to take care of me. I'm fine." My voice feels disconnected from my body. Each sentence is short, choppy, as if from some automatic part of my brain.

My chest is heaving between the effort to keep the tears at bay and the exertion of catching my breath. There's a fire burning somewhere inside of me, turning me to ash from the inside out. My tears are dry on my face, my grief nothing but rage. I hate Finnick but I'm silently grateful he's here. My fingernails are digging into my arms as he watches me with those aggravating patient eyes. I let out a long breath, feeling my shoulders deflate and the rest of my body sag forward.

Before my mind tells me to stop, I cross to Finnick, letting him hold me tightly against him. I don't cry, I don't even have the urge to anymore. "You don't have to be fine, Johanna" he murmurs. I wrap my fingers into his shirt, as if all the comfort and safety he could bring me could be pulled out.

I turn my head, wiping the last remains of the tears on his shirt. In the mirror I look into my face, unable to recognize myself. I look wild, crazy with fear. And then there's Finnick, so stable and secure. I hardly know him but it doesn't feel weird. Something about him reminds me of Johnathan. I don't know why he's here, I don't know why he cares. I blink slowly, swallowing the lump in my throat. All I know is that I'm lucky he does.


	45. Chapter 45

"Never made it as a wise man

Couldn't cut it as a poor man stealing

Tired of living like a blind man

I'm sick of sight without a sense of feeling"

~Nickelback

 _I'm standing in the middle of a river, ice bumping against my legs and my breath fogging my vision. Behind me someone yells my name. On the far shore is Finnick, waving at me, telling me to come towards him. I only make it a single step when icy cold fingers latch around my ankle. I scream as I fall, the air rushing from my lungs when I hit the frozen water. I kick at the relentless grip but it does no good. I thrash in the water, desperately trying to free myself when I look down and see the face of my attacker. Tanja – as tall and blonde as she was in life with my knife still imbedded in her neck._

 _A scream of horror erupts from my throat as she pulls the blade free, only causing me to swallow water. She raises the knife and I brace myself for the pain of it plunging into my skin. But instead all I hear is her scream, ringing so loudly it might as well be in my own head. I kick away from her, looking down in time to see the knife stabbed through her own wrist. I turn to kick to the surface, but as soon as my head emerges I see Milena, standing above me on a platform of ice, her face contorted into a mask of fury. Her hands grope at me, pushing my head back under the water, her eyes burning into me as my lungs fill with water._

 _My mouth opens in a soundless scream._

 _She's holding my arms, pushing me down further and further. Tanja reappears, her icy fingers pulling at my feet, trying to drag me farther into the depths. I'm fighting them, trying to free myself, trying to breathe, but I can't._

The sound of Finnick's voice washes over me. "Johanna! Jo, wake up!"

My eyes snap open to see Finnick looming over me in the dark. He's staring at me with an open mouth, his hands holding my arms. I try to say something but instead I burst into tears. I'm embarrassed but I can't stop. Gently Finnick lets go of my arms and pulls me into his. I let him hold me, crying into his chest. I try to push him away once, giving into my pride, but he doesn't let go and I don't try further.

In the morning, when Finnick rises to return to the control room, I find myself following him. The thought of staying up here, where Marcus and Milena haunt my every movement, is too much. Finnick doesn't argue and actually seems somewhat relieved by my company.

Stepping out of the elevator, I almost run straight into the tall, well-muscled Enobaria. Beside her is one of the older Victors from her district – Jessica, or Jemima, or something like that. Both of them stare at me and I catch the briefest glimpse of Enobaria's pointed teeth.

"Watch yourself" she hisses. I sneer, rolling my eyes and pushing past her, letting my shoulder collide with hers. From behind me I hear her make a noise and, as I follow Finnick to the control room I can hear her yell, "such a shame about your tributes!"

In response I flash a vulgar sign with my hand, not even bothering to turn to look at her.

The Games end three days later. It's not too exciting. There's a few minutes of fighting and the girl from 4 barely makes it out. Finnick seems relieved that it's one of his tributes, even though it's the girl and not his own. I'm not too secretly relieved it wasn't the boy. I don't know what I'll do when Finnick isn't here. The thought of sleeping alone again sends chills up my arms. He needs the comfort, too. More than once a night we'll rouse each other from nightmares, listening to each other breathe until we fall back to sleep. He'll still be coming for years I'm sure, but once there's a new, hot young man from District 4, he might fall out of favor.

I feel Finnick's hand touch my arm, pulling me from my thoughts. "What is it?"

I don't say anything at first, just keep starring at the wall as if it had eyes. My eyes are dry but my face aches like I've been crying. "I wish I died." It almost takes me by surprise at how easily I say it. That's the thing, it _is_ easy to say, which scares me even more than the thought itself.

He lets his hand linger on my arm, holding tightly, knowing its' as close as I'll let him get to hugging me. "Don't. There's still good things."

"Not for me. All the good things are dead."

" _I'm_ not" he says. I roll onto my back, shaking away his hand. He's lying on his side on the other side of the bed. His eyes are soft but distracted. He's hurting too.

"No" I agree "you're not."

"I'm not going anywhere, Jo" Finnick sighs.

I roll back onto my side so my back faces him. My eyes are starting to burn and I don't want him to see. "They'll kill you too."

I can feel him breathe, thinking for a long minute before sighing again. "No, they need me alive."


	46. Chapter 46

I want to thank everyone for reading/reviewing/favoriting! At this point I'm only going to be posting a chapter once a week (most likely on Sundays). I would love to do more but I'm ridiculously busy until mid-December (I graduate from college!). Thank you all again!

"Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark

Can't be sure they've hit their mark

And besides in the mean-meantime, I'm just dreaming of tearing you apart

I'm in the details with the devil

So now the world can never get me on my level

I just got to get you out of the cage

I'm a young lover's rage

Gonna need a spark to ignite"

~Fall Out Boy

Finnick leaves early, having to go do something important, but I lie in bed. There's nowhere for me to be, no tributes to watch, no interviews to give. I can lay here and do absolutely nothing. It's a much needed break. I need to snap out of this before going home. Derek will hover, so will Adele, but I don't want to worry Vinny, he has enough to worry about without me as it is.

When Derek knocks at my door I yell at him to go away. He doesn't. I grit my teeth, pulling a pillow over my head but he doesn't leave.

"Johanna open the door" he insists.

I groan, rolling over the glare at him through the wood. I don't hurry in getting to my feet. "What the hell?" I growl, pulling the door open.

Derek has a deep crease between his eyes, one that only emerges when he's particularly worried or stressed. It's enough to let me know that something's wrong. I swallow the rising acid, bracing myself for whatever's going to come out of his mouth. Except nothing does. He raises his hand slowly, the envelope held inside shaking slightly. _Of course._

I snatch the paper of out Derek's hand and slam the door in his face. "Johanna?" he calls, knocking again but I don't let him in. I'm holding the envelope so tightly that my fingers are permanently creasing it. I stare at it as I sit on the edge of my bed. Of course I'm excepted to go back to having sex with strangers as soon as the Games are over. I was an idiot to assume I'd be free until next year.

With my throat burning I tear the white paper open. As usual, it lists a time and the instructions every other card has. A dry sob shakes me. Rage floods in, making my hands tremble. Do they not know how close I am to losing it? Do they want me to fail?

Fuck President Snow. Fuck the Capitol. _Fuck_ The Hunger Games. If I ever have the chance I'll kill him, my own life be damned.

But that won't happen tonight; tonight I'll be enduring whatever I must to keep everyone alive.

I refuse to leave my room for the rest of the day. I know I'm cutting it close on time but my legs feel far too heavy to move any faster. Derek is waiting for me when I emerge as I expect.

"Johanna-" he starts but I wave my hand at him dismissively.

"Derek stop" I snap as I push the button for the elevator. "I'll be back in the morning" I mutter, before stepping inside. I don't look at him as the doors close. Already my pride is fading, turning me into little more than a lifeless shell.

The car ride is hell, the shameful steps to the door even worse. It's a relatively young man this time, his hair seemingly a natural shade of blonde but with hideous tattoos winding up his arms to his neck. He smiles at me, revealing too perfect teeth. Immediately I have to swallow the urge to run. There's something about him that makes my skin writhe; maybe it's how he cocks his head as he looks at me, or how he rubs his fingers together as his eyes run down my body.

There's none of the uncomfortable small talk or tours with him. "Welcome Johanna" he purrs "I'm Ramon Crane, pleasure to meet you."

He doesn't waste any time taking me to a bedroom or living room or even a couch. He gives me one more of those feline smiles before grabbing me by my waist and turning me around, pressing my face against the door. I have to clench my hands together to keep from fighting. At least with my back turned I can squeeze my eyes shut.

My dress is pulled away and tossed to the side, the rest of my underclothes with them only a second after. I want to cry but I won't let myself. Ramon takes off his own clothes, finally slowing down once they're in a pile on the floor. His chest presses against my back, his hands starting at my waist and moving upwards until he touches my breasts. I choke back a sob, pressing my forehead against the door so he can't see my face.

I can't stop the gasp of pain when he finishes touching me and moves on to the main event. Tears well in my eyes but I blink them back, forcing myself to breathe through it. He presses his lips against my neck, laughing quietly against my skin each time I let out a growl of pain or discomfort.

I'm experienced enough to know that once isn't enough for men like Ramon. He spends a few minutes panting, his lips hovering beside my ear. If I weren't locked between his arms I'd try to move away, even if it were only for a second of respite. Once recovered he spins me around, pushing me roughly against the door. He looks me directly in the eye, making my legs shake with fear. I try to look confident, holding my chin high, refusing to break eye contact, but I feel like I'm going to melt.

Ramon laughs, pulling me away from the door and leading me down a marble hallway. I don't fight him and I know my pliability is only making him more excited. He pushes me down onto a black couch, not even giving me a moment to breath before climbing on top of me. I try to look away from him as he pulls my legs around his waist but he grabs me by the chin, holding my head in place to stare at him.

He gets bored after a while, letting my head fall to the side. A single tear rolls down my cheek as he moves himself over me. My eyes are open but I'm not sure if I'm awake. My fingers and toes feel numb, the rest of me hardly feeling anything at all. Even my chest is a hole, not even filled with air to keep it going.

When he's done for good he all but kicks me out. I don't protest and nearly forget to wrap my cloak around me before leaving. It isn't much but as I walk to the car I lift my chin. My pride is gone but I can pretend. Pretending is all I can do now anyway.


	47. Chapter 47

"The only lies for which we are truly punished are those we tell ourselves"

~V.S. Naipaul, _In a Free State_

Finnick sits down heavily beside me. He just got out of the shower and smells strongly like soap and whenever he moves his head he flicks small droplets of water over my bare arms. Apparently even when you're from the winning district you're still not excused from being whored out.

He doesn't say anything and he doesn't have to. It's enough to just have him here, live and breathing beside me, feeling the same agony.

I'm dressed and ready for the final interview but Finnick doesn't seem to be moving. I stare at him over my shoulder as he throws himself onto his back, stretching over my bed without caring that his hair is still dripping. I find myself watching him with quiet fascination. His eyes dance in small circles as he stares up at the ceiling, his fingers twitch ever so slowly behind his head in tune with near motionless flickers of his lips. I'm so entranced that I don't even notice when his gaze turns to me, his eyes starring brightly into mine.

"What?" I snap. Anger seems to be my resting state, at least that's been the case the last few days.

He sighs, pulling himself back up. He runs his fingers through his hair, flinging water onto the floor. "Brenda" he says finally "she's pretty."

I let out a sigh of my own and turn my face away from his, looking down at the water drops on the floor. I shut my eyes, brining my hand up to my temple. I know he doesn't mean it in any sort of romantic or sexual way. The way he talks about Annie… I don't think he would see anyone else even if they were right in front of his face. "Why are you thinking about that? It's not like you can do anything. It's the price she has to pay."

Finnick shakes his head. "She asked me before the Games, what it was like being a Victor… I didn't tell her; I didn't think it would matter."

I open my eyes, turning to look at him. "You didn't know she was going to live. Why would you tell her if she was just going to die?"

"Maybe I could have given her a choice" he pauses, "I wish I was given one."

I make a quiet sound, not pushing the conversation any further. I don't want to hear it anyway. Finnick thankfully takes that as his que to get dressed.

It's horrible, going with Derek to the interview and recap. Being back in front of the stage, remembering standing there myself, it's enough to send me into hysterics, let alone the girl beneath the stage. I stand off to the side, not wanting to go to my seat yet. It's too hot in here; there's too many people.

"You ready to go home?" a gruff voice asks beside me, taking me by surprise. I turn to see a man, another Victor, tall and middle-aged. He's dressed modestly, though I'm surprised to see one of the Capitol's electric bowties around his neck. I notice his eyes wander as he looks at me. I press my lips tightly together, turning my face away.

I'm going to walk away when I notice a hateful pair of eyes staring at me. I recognize Enobaria enough from her glare as much as her fame. For some reason she seems to hate me, though my killing her tribute seems like a petty reason; I did nothing worse than she did. Clearly going to my seat without approaching her isn't an option and if I had to pick a battle, the headache pounding in my temples tells me I wouldn't win against her.

I turn back to the man; I can't place his name or District, but I'm sure he's a Victor, if anything because his lack of accent. "What'd you do to get on her bad side?" a new voice asks. I recognize this one at least – Derrick Pollard, annoyingly with the same name as my own mentor, but the relatively lax Victor from District 5. He was at least not outright hostile on my Victory tour.

My mouth is acidic, the lights and talking all throbbing to the tune of my headache. I haven't said more than ten words total to each of these men and they're trying to be my friend. The first one is still looking down at my chest every few seconds, the other grinning like this is all some joke. I look at them each in turn, willing at my anger to pierce through their eyes. "You think you're so great? Talk to someone who cares."

The looks on their faces would normally be enough to make me smile, but right now I hardly notice it. I push away from them, daring anyone to talk to me as I push through the people to my seat. My face is dry, my mouth clamped shut but inside I'm screaming. I can feel my nails raking at my face, my throat, even though they're neatly folded in my lap. My throat is ripped apart by the screams begging to come out, crazed and animalistic.

With my jaw clenched I let my eyes wander around. Most of the other Victors are already in their seats and I catch a few looking at me. Each one gets the most venomous glare I can muster; the most daring even being forced to lower their eyes. Let them think me cruel, call me a bitch; it doesn't matter.

I look away when the _show_ begins. Derek casts me some concerned glances throughout the whole thing but I ignore him. In some stroke of luck, I'm able to block it out, the noise, the screens, the people, and let myself bathe in nothing. My whole body feels like its shaking but when we stand to head back to our rooms so I'm surprised to find my steps steady.

I'm ready to curl up in bed, though when I find myself back in my room I'm anything but tired. My head is swimming, my thoughts jamming together in an unorganized effort to get out. I can't even relax enough to sit down. Even with the heels kicked into the corner I find my feet aching. My forehead is held in one hand, the other is at my side, picking at the skin around my fingernails. I feel like I'm being swallowed whole by some invisible abyss – even so, I'd rather be here than in a stranger's mansion.

I move quietly, ducking out of my room and tiptoeing around the corner in case Derek is out here. I don't see him, meaning he likely went to bed but just in case, I stay quiet. I grab the first bottle I see, which turns out to be some fancy wine. It doesn't matter much to me, as long as it makes my head stop spinning.

The bottle is gone quickly, left on its side on my bedside table. I'm trying to scrub the makeup off my face but no matter how long I rub my eyes I find more and more layers. My hands are smudged black, making it impossible to touch anything without transferring the stain. I stare down at my fingers with a frown. My head is still swimming, seemingly trying to pull away from my shoulders and escape. My eyes feel like they're moving through sludge as I drag them upwards, forcing myself to stare into the mirror.

My eyes are hollow; black pits with nothing, no sign of life inside. I swallow heavily. That can't be me. I don't look like this. I am _alive_ but that… _creature_ staring back at me isn't. The word demon falls into my head, and I swear I can hear it whispering from its motionless mouth. I grasp the counter, still keeping eye contact with the mirror. Before my eyes, its face seems to melt, turning from something close to my own into a mutilated grimace, black dripping from the eyes, rolling down its cheeks where it runs over its lips…

I find my hands shaking, clenching and relaxing over and over as I stand frozen. The mirror splinters apart suddenly, the reflection even more distorted than before. It takes me a minute to realize it was my own fist that broke it. The sight of blood seems to ground me and the demon disappears from view.

"Shit" I mutter.

Shards of glass are imbedded into my knuckles, blood already dripping down to my wrist. Only looking at it do I feel the pain. I sigh, annoyed with myself. I pull out the shards slowly, wincing each time I feel the glass cut my skin but relishing at the feeling. It's probably better I stand here doing this. I try to focus harder than I need to, each time my mind wanders I snap it back to attention, with more effort at keeping me focused on my hand than actually picking out the glass.

My head doesn't so much hurt as I'm afraid it's going to. The ache in my hand is preferable, so I draw it out, pulling out glass until there isn't any more, then running it under the water until tears rise in my eyes from the sting.

I turn, ready to sleep but the sight of my bed, sitting in the dark by itself, stops me dead. With my hand held out in front of my stomach, I use my free arm to lean on the counter behind me. I can't go in there. I can't be alone. If I fall asleep tonight I don't know if I'll wake up again and for as painful as it is to be alive, I'm still afraid to die.

With weak legs I slide down to the floor, the cool tile refreshing against my bare legs. I stare into my bedroom, the shadows long and dark over the floor. What kind of monsters live in there? In the shadows, under the bed, behind the window, waiting for me to turn away?

I inhale sharply, suddenly starved of oxygen. I shouldn't have gone tonight; I should've faked sick or gotten hurt or something. I should go crazy like Annie, maybe she's better off like that.

It's not true, I know that. Letting my head fall back against the cabinet, I know that I don't envy her other than her having gotten out of returning as a mentor each year, and being passed around the Capitol.

I drop my hand to the floor, yelping when a sharp pain burns against my skin. A piece of glass, large enough that I'm surprised I didn't notice it before lies there. Cautiously I pick it up, rolling it between my thumb and forefinger. It's small but sharp. I find my hands instinctively lowering it, holding it in my damaged hand against the soft, white skin on my left arm. How easy it would be to just cut and lie here until I fell asleep.

I tilt my head back, looking up at the ceiling. Wouldn't that be a way to do it? Kill myself in the bathroom of the tribute center. It would be ironic to say the least. Oh how I'd love to see Snow's face when he heard. I look back down and throw the shard across the room. If only.


	48. Chapter 48

"Sometimes we get sad about things and we don't like to tell other people that we are sad about them. We like to keep it a secret. Or sometimes, we are sad but we really don't know why we are sad, so we say we aren't sad but we really are"

~Mark Haddon, _The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time_

I sit down in a chair next to Derek. His fingers are massaging his temple and there's dark circles under his eyes. I drop my hand down on the armrest, earning his attention. "I'm sorry" I murmur.

He hesitates a moment before reaching down and laying his hand over mine. I stare down at my hand, debating pulling it away but I can't seem to muster the energy. I know I have no reason to be sorry but I'm not apologizing for anything _I_ did. He isn't mad or sad, just tired. When I got home last night, shoes missing and legs aching, I found him sitting on the couch half drunk. I've never seen him like that – he's paying for it now I can tell, with the pale skin and headache and lingering regret.

As the train moves ever faster away from the Capitol, the more I expect to feel relief. I'm going home, it should make me happy, but instead I feel my chest tightening with anxiety. Can I really call it home anymore? The house I grew up in is gone, along with everyone who lived there with me. Only Vinny is waiting for me, and the other Victors care enough to give me a meager nod when they see me. Milena and Marcus will be there, waiting for their funeral that I'm sure I won't be going to. I won't burden their families with my presence, but I'll be close to their children for the rest of my life. There's more of the dead waiting for me than the living.

How are Marcus and Milena's families handling their deaths? Had they given up hope immediately or were they crushed by it? Is anyone left to mourn them? Do they cry over their loss? Drown in the agony?

I wish this wasn't how it ends. I wish I could be bringing one of them back with me so that I know, for at least one person, I am a hero.

Somehow I manage to fall asleep. I'm able to waste a few hours that way, and when I wake up we're nearly back. Derek isn't anywhere to be seen, so I'm left curled up in a chair by myself. I hold my head in my hand, starring out the window at the trees flying by.

I'm so ready to be home, to be rid of the Capitol and the cameras and the Victors. And yet, for as much as I want to go home, each time I think I feel the train slow, my heart constricts in my chest. The last time I came home it was to disaster. Did I do everything right this time? I must have done something, _anything_ _ **.**_ Why else would I be so afraid? Who will it be this time? Vinny? His whole family? Maybe they'll just kill people at random or burn down my house again. I clutch my necklace tightly as my legs bounce rapidly. Even through my skin I can feel my heart beating. My shirt pulses as my heart works ever harder to keep pumping. Vinny's dead. I know it.

When I hear the first sounds of the train braking, I jump to my feet. My head protests at the movement, threatening to send me to the floor. But I grit my teeth, holding onto the wall until the room stops swimming and nearly run to the door. My fingers drum against the wall. Maybe he isn't dead yet. Maybe I can still do something – only if I can get off this damn train. My skin feels so alive, tingling where even the fabric of my clothes brush against it. What the hell is taking so long?

I'm ready to scream when the door finally pulls away. I burst free, bracing myself for heartbreak and readying myself to run. My heart is pounding so loudly that I can feel it in my ears. Where is he? I feel like my eyes are wide but I can't see. It takes me a while, stumbling in a half circle, before I hear my name.

I snap to attention. Across the small station Vinny is standing in the shade of a tree. I let out my breath, immediately feeling the pressure in my chest release. _He's alive_. I can barely contain the relief but even as I let my feet take over I can't fight the lingering feeling that he's not real. Even when I reach him, I expect him to melt through my fingers – to disappear like a ghost. A heavy lump sticks in my throat when I clutch his shirt. I have to close my eyes when I smell the familiar scent of pine and dirt to keep from crying. I was so sure he was dead. I'm still not entirely convinced he's not. I can see him, feel him, smell him, and yet it all seems to be a part of an elaborate dream.

"What is it?" Vinny asks. He steps back to look at me, his creamy eyes as steady as ever. I notice immediately that the grin on his face isn't there. I purse my lips together, letting my fingers slip away from the knots I formed in his shirt. When's the last time I saw him smile? We used to joke and laugh for hours at a time, now I don't think I can remember what his laugh sounds like…

I swallow down the lump and shake my head. "I-"my mouth hangs open, waiting for words. I almost told him – almost admitted I thought he was dead, but starring at the firmness in his face, I stop myself. "Don't worry about it. I just – just missed you."

When he doesn't move, I take it upon myself to turn towards the road. I hold my hand out to him, raising my eyebrows until he takes it. He follows slowly but keeps at my side. There's almost no one out despite the coolness under the clouds. Most of the loggers would have gone home about a half hour ago, so I assume most of them are attempting to put together a meager dinner for their families. Once I see a face staring at me through a window. They jump away when I notice them like I might take it upon myself to come after them. I clench my jaw and keep my face forward, refusing to look into any other homes we pass in case any more faces are peering out. I keep my eyes trained on the gravel roads until we start the ascent of one of the only hills in the district. At the top I find my feet slowing. Down the hill, on the far side of the road, nestled in a dry and dead field, rows of grave markers sit. My breath catches in my throat when I see the two fresh mounds, tucked next to each other in the back, in line with all the other lost tributes. They already buried them…

I want to go to them, to run my fingers over the wooden markers, to kneel in the fresh dirt, but Vinny's careful eyes keep me still. They haven't been abandoned as so many are. Flowers are lying over Marcus's grave and there's a single, yellow flower over Milena's. Even from far away I can see that some of the dirt has been kicked away from visitors – from someone standing directly over the grave. I stare at them for a long time, wondering if they'd understand. I try to tell myself that it's better that they're dead, better that it ended early, but I don't believe it. _I_ wouldn't have. It cost me everything to survive but I thought it would cost even more to die. As long as they're dead their families are safe from Snow's wrath, but they also have to suffer through their loss – loss of income, protection, love… and that's my fault.

I stand there for longer than acceptable. I wish I could speak to them, apologize at least, but I keep the words in my throat. There's nothing I can do as much as I wish I could. I can't do anything standing here. All it does is hurt me. I helped get them killed and nothing will change that.

I'm pulled out of my thoughts by Vinny's hand squeezing mine. I turn to look at him, where I'm met with an expression mixed with concern and steady confidence. From just a look I can tell he knows what's going through my head. In a sudden flush of warmth, I feel so grateful for him. Smiling lightly, I squeeze his hand in return, a silent gesture reassuring him that I'm okay.

We walk back to the Village, not talking much, instead settled in a comfortable silence. When we finally get inside, I settle myself on the couch where Vinny joins me. We talk for a long time, long past the point where the sun begins to sink behind the trees. We joke and laugh into the night, our conversation easy and comfortable, reminding me of the last few years, before things became so complicated.

He tells me about the oldest of his two sisters having snuck out one night to meet some boy while I was gone. I can't help but laugh "She's fourteen, it's what they do" I say with a smile.

"Not at _fourteen_ ," Vinny exclaims.

The look on his face makes me laugh. " _We_ did" I add with a smile, resting my head in my hand. "Did a lot more than just sneak out, too."

This time I start laughing for an entirely different reason. I can practically see the color drain out of his face. That's one of the things about Vinny; for as smart and intuitive as he can be, sometimes he's awfully naïve.

Smiling quietly in amusement, I touch his arm lightly. "Don't worry about it. If she's anything like you I'm sure there will be nothing to worry about."

Thankfully he picks up on my sarcasm and I see a small smile pull at his lips.

"You're not very helpful, you know" he sighs, smile widening when he looks over at me.

I shrug, smiling back. "Depends on your definition."

Vinny rolls his eyes at me but smiles nonetheless. Mirroring his expression, I rest my head on the back of the couch, feeling the pleasant burn in my eyes that tell me I'm close to falling asleep. I look up at Vinny, so aware of the contentment I feel. My fingers tighten around his arm, holding onto him comfortably. Even as I let my eyes fall closed, a smile still rests on my face.


	49. Chapter 49

"And in that moment, like a swift intake of breath, the rain came"

~Truman Capote, _Other Voices, Other Rooms_

A week passes, then another. Derek hovers, Adele checks on me constantly, Blight even makes an appearance at the annoyingly regular "Victor's dinners" at Derek's house. For a while I feel like everything I do is an insult to the dead. I'm balancing on the edge of a cliff, standing on the edge, pretending like the dirt is never going to give away. I tell myself I just have to deal with it – I killed those people, I threw away everything, so I just have to suck it up.

I try to keep to myself as much as I can. It's almost as if I'm living on the other side of a glass, just waiting and watching. Everything happens around me and I am so very _far_. Marcus's and Milena's graves stay decorated with flowers and trinkets. Their families and friends come and go for a long time, but the strangers stop after the first week. I see the sorrow and grief and anger and the thought of what could've been.

Milena's brother is at the grave daily. Sometimes I see him in the morning only to find him still there hours later. Once I caught him standing in the mud only minutes before curfew. I watched him, waiting to see if he'll leave or face the Peacekeepers; he chose the former. Whenever I leave the safety of Victor's village, even if I don't go into town, I always find him. Only once he met my eyes, and after that I make sure to look away whenever I see him. His blue eyes shine with fire – one that makes my heart stop. He blames me. He accuses me with his eyes. In his eyes, it's my fault he lost his sister.

But I need to face him. Milena's letter, the one she gave me the morning before the Games burns against my brain. I'll give it to him, I know I will, but I never thought it would be this _hard_. I start carrying it with me, telling myself the next time I see him, I'll stop him, but I don't.

The weather is beginning to turn towards fall when I find myself walking down the almost abandoned road to the graveyard. Coming the opposite direction, straight towards me with his head down, is Chris. Milena's brother. My feet stop seemingly of their own accord. Not looking away from him, my fingers reach towards the folded paper, rubbing it between my fingers. I should do it. He deserves it. It's not fair of me to keep something like this from him. But watching him, the sadness in his movements, the way his feet drag and shoulders slouch, I don't know if I can.

He must be what? Ten? He's too young to be so alone.

I almost duck into the trees when he gets close, head still down so he has no idea I'm here. But I swallow deeply and force myself to stay put.

"Chris?" I ask quietly, my voice feeble.

His head snaps up immediately. It only takes him a second to recognize me and I see the doubt, disbelief, sadness and rage all taking their turn in his expression. I open my mouth, trying to find the right word, but nothing comes out.

"You're- You're Johanna Mason" he blurts, sounding shocked that I would address him so directly.

I press my lips together, forcing myself to swallow down the acid building in my throat. Once again, I feel the paper in my pocket and, so slowly it's almost laughable, I pull it out. I see him look, face confused, but he doesn't say anything.

"Milena…" I say, her name stealing all the air from my lungs. Knowing that I'll never find the words I'm looking for, I hold the letter out to Chris. "She asked me to give this to you."

He looks at me, his expression unreadable, before turning his attention to the crumpled letter. Cautiously, he reaches out and plucks it from my fingers, taking special attention to avoid touching me. I drop my arm back to my side immediately, feeling heat press against my face despite the chill in the air.

"I-" I start, but I realize I have no idea what to say. It's then that I realize that there's tears welling in my eyes. Letting out a shaky breath, I blink them away, plunging my hands back into my pockets. "I'm really sorry." It's pathetic. It's useless. What can he do with my apologies?

Before he can respond, I whirl around, walking as quickly as I can back up the dirt road. I don't care that I never even made it to the graveyard. I'll go tomorrow. Right now, I need to hide from the shame burning its way through my skin.

I crumple into one of the chairs in my living room. The tension of trying not to cry making my muscles ache with exhaustion and force me to gasp for each breath. I'm such a _coward_. That shouldn't scare me. Talking to that boy, that shouldn't have done this to me. And yet, I can get rid of the burning, all-consuming, violent shame that I let his sister die.

 _You're trying your best, Jo, that's all you can do_. I can hear Jonathan speaking like he was standing beside me. His voice is so tangible that I have to look up, to make certain he isn't here. As always, the crushing emptiness of the room around me hits like a blow to the head.

I let out a long breath, wiping the tears from eyes. _Oh, Jonathan_ , I think, _you have no idea what it's like_. For as much as I wish I had any of them; my mother, my father, Cam or Lily, right now my heart yearns for my older brother. So calm and collected, he would help me through this, I know he would. He was my best friend despite being almost five years older than me.

Pushing out of the chair, I stretch the sore muscles in my arms, legs, and back, trying to work life into them. It takes me only a minute to pull my boots on, my whole body resonating with purpose. As fast as I came back, I work my way out of the Village, following unmarked paths in a route that I've had memorized since I could walk.

I keep my head down, my heart thundering in my chest. For a moment I begin to think I've lost my way, that maybe, the field Jonathan and I used to spend hours playing in is gone, when suddenly, it spreads out in front of me. Even now there's a plethora of wildflowers, all standing in the rare meadow, clear of the trees. I wander through it slowly, almost able to see Jonathan walking beside me.

In what I decide must be the dead center, I sit down, lying with my back against the itchy grass so that I stare up as the cloudless sky. Closing my eyes, I can forget everything that's happening and the pain in my veins.

When we were younger, Jonathan and I would play stupid, mindless games for hours. As we both began to age, we stopped with the make-believe and took to just sitting, sprawled out amongst the flowers like I am now, just talking about anything and everything that came to mind.

Out of some buried instinct, I reach my arm to the side, searching for my brother. But instead of his warm, steady presence, I find only the dry, crumpled grass. Sighing, I pull my arm back, letting it rest over my abdomen.

 _He's dead, brainless_ , I remind myself, still feeling the sting of the words even years later. For the first time since he died, I lie there, staring up at the clouds, breathing in the flowers and the pines, letting the sun soak into my skin for hours. Jonathan used to make me point out shapes in the clouds and, when we were out here long enough, the stars.

Only when the sun begins to dip in the sky do I push against the rough ground to stagger to my feet. I can't bear the thought of having to face the stars again without Jonathan. This was _our_ place, maybe that's why it feels to wrong to be here alone.

Walking home, I can feel the eyes of everyone hustling home from work watch me as I push in the opposite direction. I glare at them, daring them to say a word. Their expressions are varied and I never know what to expect, all I know is that I hate every single one of them.

I try to be alone as much as possible after that. Strangers stare and whisper; I don't need them to like me, but it's not something I want to face. Derek, Adele, and Blight hover, watching me like I'm a toddler who might hurt themselves at any moment. And Vinny… he tries so hard, to seem normal, to make me happy, and it crushes me when I see his smile fall and his eyes droop.

The dreams are a constant. I never know what'll happen or who it'll be, but I know they're going to happen. Marcus and Milena are frequent, but my own Games still haunt me. Sometimes it's strangers, people I've never met, only seen from a distance as they stand on raised platforms, mourning their lost sons and daughter and being forced to celebrate my killing of them. They never run out and they never fail to leave me shaking and screaming in horror. Everyone's eyes are on me even when I'm asleep. They hate me; there's anger, hatred, agony, sorrow. I'm the villain. I'm the monster that haunts _their_ dreams.

It's strange but, in a weird way, I miss Finnick. When he'd rouse me, there wasn't panicked concern or fear. He knew what the nightmares were and he knew he couldn't stop them. There was a sort of understanding between us that Vinny and I can never have.

Vinny does his best to call me out of them, sometimes multiple times a night. He talks to me, about things that don't matter and neither of us care about; it helps me relax, to pull me back to reality. I cling to him and his words, yearning for even a moment of peace. If I look at him, then I can't see all the eyes – watching, waiting. If I could only find something to say; something to explain myself, some way to apologize… then maybe they'd stop staring.


	50. Chapter 50

"My dear, I don't give a damn"

~Margaret Mitchell, _Gone With The Wind_

I spend most mornings at the graveyard. I don't do much other than stand, or sit there, wishing I could reverse all the death. I've gotten so used to the feeling of fighting back tears that I feel empty whenever I return home. Vinny worries about me, that's clear, but he works six days a week and Derek knows better than trying to stop me.

When, on a particularly hot morning, I begin my walk down the dirt path, I'm stopped by Blight. His face is calm but I notice his fingers twitching all the way from my front door. I hold my head high, curious at what he's doing but refusing to look anything but confident and apathetic. I bite my tongue as I approach, waiting for an explanation. When I pass him he turns to walk beside me. I chew on my lip, determined not to care and yet nearly bursting to confront him.

"What are you doing?" I snap finally just as we pass through the wrought iron gate.

Blight sighs, his thumb latching onto his pocket. "I watch you each morning going down to the cemetery. I haven't gone in years" he pauses like he's remembering something that takes his breath away. "You motivated me to come back."

I press my lips together. I don't pry, not out of courtesy but in the hopes that he'll decide to turn around and leave. This is something I do by myself and it makes me nervous having him beside me, watching me. Yet, when I weave through the wooden gravestones, he stays at my side. I find myself looking over at him, wondering at which grave he'll stop at. Today my feet seem to lead me towards the tributes graveyard, but when Blight suddenly comes to a stop in the Victor's graveyard, I find myself stopping and turning to look.

Five stones are lined up, the most recent fated to be my own. When I look at Blight, I see him staring at the third grave, the only one to be filled and adorned with the white headstone. Adrian Robinson. She won the Games fifteen or twenty some years ago. I don't remember much about her, other than she died only a few months after coming home. She never became a mentor, only barely made it past the Victory tour. Derek mentioned her to me once but he didn't tell me much.

I bite my lip, my stomach hardening into stone. "What is it?" I ask.

"She was young" he says gently. "She was strong – a real fighter. But she couldn't make it through this. I think about her all the time, you know." I look away from him, appraising the headstone in earnest. "I tried to help her. I wanted to save her."

He sucks in a breath suddenly, making me jump. "There's so many graves" he comments, slowly backing away and walking down the row, this time with me following him. We're almost halfway through the tributes graveyard before he sighs again, turning to look at me. "She could do anything she wanted. She was brave, and stubborn, and loyal to a fault. You remind me so much of her, Johanna, and sometimes it hurts to look at you because of it," he smiles, though I can see the pain in his face. "She should be alive today."

He stops again, turning around to gaze sadly in the direction of her grave. She was seventeen when she died – I learned that from the gravestone. She was my age when she was buried here. "Her family didn't deserve that. "

I peer at Blight curiously. He's so quiet and I have no idea why he chose today to strike up a conversation. "I thought Derek was her mentor" I say brusquely.

Blight nods, keeping his gaze forward. "We both were. I used to go with him for a long time."

I look down at my feet for a moment, feeling the lump form in my throat. The question hangs in the air between us and I almost stop myself from asking it, but I can't. "What happened to her?" I whisper. Part of me doesn't want to know. There's no way it can be happy, but I can't deny my curiosity at the way everyone tip-toes around her name. Even Derek didn't tell me what happened.

"She came to me one day, only a week or so after we came home from the tour. She said she couldn't do it – live with what she did, do what Snow wanted… she was a mess and she was furious. She said she couldn't live a life that wasn't hers" he swallows heavily and I pretend not to notice the tears welling in his eyes. "It was the last time I ever saw her." He brushes his hands together like he's trying to wipe away dirt.

"The Capitol told everyone she got sick – pneumonia," he sighs. I remember that, briefly at least. I never dedicated much attention to anything relating to the Games before now. "But that's not what happened." Blight's face shrivels up and I notice the hint of anger there. Does someone as calm as him, someone so quiet and distant, feel as much hatred as I do? The fury rising in his eyes is enough to make me wary. "Her mother found her. She'd taken a knife and slit her wrists. If I had known what she was going to do, if I could've done something…" he trails off shaking his head.

I watch silently as a single tear falls down his face. He wished he could have stopped her but if it were me, and I was faced with that decision, could I really stop her? If Derek, or Blight, or Will chose to kill themselves, would I really try to save them? It's stupid, I know, but some part of me is jealous of her. She took control, she saved people instead of standing by while they died. She put everyone else before herself. Haven't I wished to do the same?

From somewhere in the trees a dog starts barking. Blight looks over to the sound, using the movement to slyly wipe his face. I look away to save him the embarrassment. He shakes his head slowly, like he was speaking to someone in front of him.

"Blight…" I murmur, pressing my fingernails into my palms. "Why are you telling me this?"

The question hangs in the air, the silence between us tangible. He turns his head slowly so that he's looking at me once again. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and although his face is now dry, I can see the grief in his eyes. As soon as we make eye contact I regret asking. Maybe I don't want to know – maybe he never should've told me about Adrian in the first place.

Blight opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment before nodding solidly. "I know we aren't close and I know that you have Derek. He's your mentor, he takes care of you-" I raise my eyebrows, knowing its true but I'm still reluctant to admit that I can hardly take care of myself. He waves his hand, hardly pausing in his speech. "I also know you're popular in the Capitol, and I know what that can do to someone. Will, Derek, me, even Adrian… none of us had as much fame as you do" he pauses, looking down at his feet, blinking hard before looking at me. The way he watches me is so kind, like I was a child, one who fell and scrapped their knee. He looks at me like a parent would, like a father. It makes me uneasy.

"Derek is my friend, you know that, right?" he asks, eyebrows furrowing deeper for a moment. "You come out here every day. Derek worries about you-" I clench my jaw, resisting the urge to roll my eyes – of course he's talked to Derek "- so I wanted to tell you my piece, for whatever it's worth." He looks at me, waiting for something. I nod, telling him to go on. If I open my mouth I might cry, or scream, or… something. "I don't want you to end up like Adrian. I know that it's hard, living like this but-" he sucks in a deep breath "-but there are still things to live for. To be completely honest, if anything were to happen to you it would destroy Derek, and like he's chosen to protect you, I'm trying to protect him."

I bite my bottom lip, breaking eye contact to stare off towards the road. If anything were to happen to me – _anything_ , I'm sure Derek would be fine. He has Adele and the other Victors, sure it would be tough, but he'd be alright; he's stronger than he looks.

"And-" Blight sighs, looking away like he was suddenly embarrassed. "That boy – the one who takes care of you, who loves you…" he hesitates long enough for my stomach to tighten into a knot. What could he possibly have to say about Vinny? "It would kill him."

I press my lips together, anger surging up through my veins. "What do you know?" I snap "You don't know anything about him. You don't have anyone."

Blight makes a face so sad that it nearly takes my breath away. I know it was harsh but it's not his place to talk to me about Vinny. "No I don't" he agrees with a sad smile. "But I did. Once. She looked at me the same way he looks at you. I thought we would grow old together."

"Was a Victor too much for her?" I mutter with an eye roll, not particularly seeking an answer.

"No. She would have stayed forever if I asked her to." I stare at Blight, trying to read the expression on his face with little success. "But I couldn't subject her to this life. I couldn't risk her life every time I got on that train. She deserved more than that so I let her go."

It feels like a punch in the chest. My vision becomes hazy for a second, making me feel as if I were swaying. I press air out tightly between my lips. Is that what he thinks I'm doing? _Is_ that what I'm doing?

Neither of us have anything more to say to each other. My hope to be alone down here obviously hasn't worked out and right now all I want is to escape back to the solitude of my house. I walk quickly, my head bent towards the ground to keep my face away from Blight's line of sight. Now it's my turn to be embarrassed. I'm not crying, not yet, but I can feel the grimace and I'm not in the mood to deal with it. Blight lingers for a moment before following me, albeit a few feet back.

Only when I'm halfway up the hill to the village do I plant my feet in the hard dirt, whirling around to face a startled Blight. "You know what?" I hiss, feeling my hands trembling at my sides. "You don't get to talk to me. Not about this, not about anything. mind your own fucking business and leave me alone." I turn on my heel, nearly racing up the hill.

As soon as I reach the Victor's village I allow myself to jog the last stretch. Once inside I slam the door, pressing my back up against it like Blight might try to force his way in.

 _Screw him_. Who does he think he is? This is _my_ life, not his, not Snow's, _mine_. I barely know him and yet he thinks it's his place lecture me? Well fuck him. He doesn't have to worry about me, and he especially doesn't have to guilt trip me into anything. If I were going to kill myself I would have done it by now; he should know that.

He's insane. I've heard plenty of people throw that word around whenever my Games come up, particularly in the Capitol, but I'm not the fucking insane one. The rest of them are.

I sigh, resting the back of my head against the wooden door. I won't let him get to me. He's nobody, nothing and I won't let him bother me. Sucking in a deep breath I push away from the door, clenching my jaw as I stalk through the main hallway. The sun outside is hot but I ignore it, crossing my way across the small porch to the far side, where a large pine casts its shadow.

The houses in the village are arranged in a slight oval, so from this corner I can't see anything but the forest. It makes for a good hiding spot; it almost makes me feel like I'm at home – my _real_ home.

I fall into a chair and pull my knees up to my chest. In the summer heat, sweat beads wherever my skin touches together but I'm too exhausted to move. I rest my forehead on my knees, brushing my hair behind my ear when it falls down into my face. My eyes are squeezed shut but I can see the light staring back through my eyelids. I never knew life could hurt this bad.


	51. Chapter 51

"Most men and women will grow up to love their servitude and will never dream of a revolution"

~ _Brave New World_

Vinny has a smile on his face as searches the piles of fruits, selecting only the best to pick up and take for himself. He's happy. He's content. He doesn't have a care in the world by the looks of him. My mind, on the other hand, is whirring, making the whole market feel like its spinning. I see the eyes turn towards me, the double takes and stares of children. I have my hand on the corner of a table, anchoring myself to keep standing. My jaw is clenched and my eyes are on fire but my mind is screaming and I'm frozen in place. I can't bring myself to take a single step, to do any more than move my head to meet the stares.

My throat aches like I've been holding my breath. A gust of wind rushes by, making my stomach clench; I know it's hot but it still makes goosebumps rise over my arms. There's something eerie about the wind, like it originated somewhere dark and wet. The rustling of a paper snags Vinny's attention. He catches my eye, his goofy grin making it impossible for me to feel anything but happy. I smile back at him, momentarily forgetting the constriction on my throat. "I think I got everything" he says, pulling out a small pile of coin to pay for the food.

"Took you long enough" I reply with a smirk. He rolls his eyes but I see his smile broaden as he turns to leave beside me.

I stare up at him as he turns away. His eyes are creamy in the sunlight, but still dark enough to stand out against his skin. He talks easily with the vendors. He gets along with _everyone._ I watch with admiration as he moves confidently between the ramshackle stands, greeting everyone who looks his way. _He's a good person_ , I think to myself. _But I'm not_. A frown tugs at my lips and I look towards my feet.

"Are you cold?" he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.

I purse my lips, hesitating before shaking my head. "Not at all" I say, keeping my voice steady.

He nods but I know that his good mood is gone. Just that quickly and everything is different. A brick is dropped onto my back, weighing me down further with each step. My legs feel like they're pushing through sludge the closer we get to the Village. I find it hard to even look at the shining, enormous mansions. I bite into my lip, feeling guilty on top of everything else. I can't let Vinny have just one damn moment of happiness can I?

Gently and immeasurably cautiously, I feel Vinny's hand take mine. I do my best to offer him a smile, but I know it's unconvincing. Even so, he pretends he's not bothered. With the bundle of food safely tucked in his other arm, he pulls our hands up to his lips, pressing them against our fingers.

As soon as we passed into June I could feel the tension and fear. With the reaping now only a few days away, everyone is on edge. The ghosts watch me relentlessly now. I stopped sleeping, I can hardly eat without getting nauseous and I react violently to every small sound.

I'm ready to scream by the time we get inside. I'm drowning now, the silence is choking me. Vinny works quickly, putting away food and cleaning dishes while I stand stoically in the doorway. He doesn't say a word. Instead he pauses to look over at me. I see the concern in his face even underneath the smile. He feels helpless, I know it. He's too good. He shouldn't have to worry about me, to take care me; as much as I tell him to leave, to worry about himself or his family, he always comes back. I bite into my lip, watching with fast rising anger that I can't place.

They don't get to do this to me. Snow doesn't get to win. If I'm supposed to be small and quiet and scared, then that's exactly what I won't do.

"Stop" I say just loud enough for Vinny to hear.

He looks up at me, hesitating with a small plate in his hand. "What?" he asks, clearly confused.

I raise my chin and stand straighter. I won't be afraid, not right now, not until I have to be. That's all the rebellion can muster. I suck in a breath and walk slowly around the island to where Vinny watches with careful eyes. "Don't" I whisper, taking the plate from him and setting it down on the counter. I look at him for a moment, staring sternly into his eyes, before taking a half step forward and kissing him deeply.

He doesn't resist when I lean into him. I move slowly, like I might scare him off by moving too fast. I put my hand on his chest and press my fingers into his skin as I drag it up to his neck. I keep expecting him to pull back, to tell me to stop, push me away, so I press even harder, wrapping my fingers in his hair and leaning into him.

I start thinking he's not going to say anything when he hesitates. I tighten my grip but he pulls his head back ever so slightly. "Jo" he whispers "what are you doing?" In lieu of an answer I kiss him again, hoping to stop his doubts. He sighs against my mouth and I feel his fingertips brush against my back. "Jo…" he starts again.

I shush him and to my surprise he listens. "Don't" I murmur again, pulling back just enough to look him in the eyes. His expression is soft and longing, but I still see the confusion in his face. It's unexpected and strange, I know. But I don't care. I bite my bottom lip and drop my hands from his shoulders. His eyes trail my movements as I grab the bottom of my shirt and pull it over my head.

There's no resistance when I lean back against him. His hands grip my waist, holding me tightly. Our skin melts together, the heat raising sweat on the back of my neck. My hands move seemingly on their own accord, dropping to his belt, fumbling with the buckle as I press my lips ever harder against his. He sighs against me, taking my hands in his before undoing his pants himself. I reach down to my own jeans but my fingers hardly brush the button though when Vinny suddenly pulls back. His hands tighten around my waist as he takes a step backwards. He spins me around, hardly giving me a moment to realize what he's doing before hoisting me up so that I'm sitting on the counter.

My heart is pounding so hard that it powers over the sound of our breathing. Lust flairs in my chest, making my skin burn with desire. This was what I needed. It's _control_. It's something that Snow can't take from me. My breath comes out in a ragged gasp when he pulls my pants down in a swift, desperate motion. I kick my legs free, wrapping them around Vinny's waist and pulling him as close as I can. I can't stand the distance; even an inch of space between us is too much, too far.

"Vinny" I whisper, my lips against the soft skin on his neck. He turns his face towards me, our breaths mingling together. His hands wrap tightly in my hair and for the first time in weeks, I close my eyes and let myself forget everything but him and now.

I wake up before Vinny. I can't help but study his sleeping face – his perfectly pale eyelids, his hardly parted lips, the tuft of hair falling over his forehead, and the sun dappling over his skin. It could be out of a story, the perfection of the morning. I should be happy, I should feel safe and comfortable and yet where my heart should be sits a boulder. Three days and still I can hear Blight's words echoing in my head.

 _I couldn't subject her to that. I couldn't risk her life every time I got on that train_.

My fingernails are chewed bloody, the inside of my lip is torn to pieces from my worrying over it. Each time I think about it the more I think he's right. Am I being selfish, keeping him here despite the obvious danger? Is it cruel to put his life at risk? My stomach churns with doubt. He has no idea the danger he's in, that his _family_ is in just from being around me. Would it be better to tell him? Would be understand? Would he even believe me? They're thoughts I've had before, even before Blight spoke them. But now, I can't stop thinking about it. I know what I _should_ do, I just don't know if I can.

I sit up and swing my legs out of bed. My jaw is clenched tightly as I slip out of the room into the soft gray light of the hallway. I can't think if I'm looking right at him. I turn towards the stairs but my feet don't follow pursuit; instead I find them leading me down the other end of the hallway – a place I rarely go anymore.

The white door is hanging open, making it so that, from the hallway, I can see the foot end of an unmade bed, blankets spilling off one side and a pair of shoes kicked carelessly against the wall. The sight of it takes my breath away. I can't move any farther than the doorway. I'm stuck staring at my brother's last remnants. I was never able to bring myself to change their rooms, not even to make the bed or pick the clothes up off the floor. Even now my chest aches with their absence. Could I bear to go through this again if Vinny were to die? Be it logging accident or Snow's wrath, could I handle another ghost?

I lean my head against the door frame, a wave of agony making my vision blur and threatening to make my stomach lose what dinner I had. My head pulses angrily, like my body is trying to punish me for even thinking about sending Vinny away. I grit my teeth and force my eyes shut. Punish me as much as it wants but I won't let him die because of me. I'll be alone until I die if I have to, but I can't let anyone else be punished for me.

I hear the creak of the floorboards that pulls my attention only a second before Vinny's hand gently touches my arm.

"Jo" he murmurs, his voice sleepy and quiet. My eyes flash open, left to stare at the white paint, chipping away after years of abandonment before my arrival. "What are you doing?"

My grip on the doorjamb tightens. I want so badly to turn around and face him, to let him lead me downstairs where he'll make coffee and tell bad jokes until I eventually laugh just to get him to stop. I want to see him smile, to get lost in playing with his sisters or worrying over his mother too kindly for any other son but him to do. There's so much I _want_ , but that doesn't seem too much matter anymore.

"Vinny" I whisper, my heart already breaking before I pull my spine straight and resolve myself to what I need to.

"Hmm?" he mumbles, voice still full of sleep.

"You need to go." I say it and my breath catches in my throat. "You can't be here."

His grip slackens on my arm and I easily shake him off. I turn slowly, afraid to face him. "What?" he asks, all the evidence of sleep gone from his features.

"I-I can't do this anymore" I choke out, letting out a slow breath to keep my voice from shaking.

"Can't do what?"

" _This_ " I wave my hand in the air. "You being here, being with me… I can't do it anymore."

He shakes his head, clearly confused. "Jo, what's going on?"

I bite my lip, frustrated with myself. I owe him an explanation but I can't give him one. I need him to save himself. I have to make sure he's no longer a liability.

" _Nothing_ " I spit, sounding as mean as I can. "I'm done. I don't want you here anymore." His confusion only deepens but I can see the beginnings of doubt flash across his face. " _Leave_ " I hiss, gritting my teeth together mostly to keep tears from rising in my eyes.

"No" he responds so sternly that it catches me off guard and I momentarily lose my composure. I swallow heavily, keeping my jaw set and chin held high. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about."

I roll my eyes, mostly to give myself an excuse to look away from his face. "You want to know what this is about?" I murmur, crossing my arms over my stomach.

 _This is about me, and Snow, and The Hunger Games. It's about how if you stay with me you'll end up dead and I'm too selfish to make myself go through that. You've never been anything but good and kind and caring and I won't – can't see you dead like I saw Cam or Lily. I_ won't _see your charred body in smoldering ruins. I won't ever see that again_.

"I can't take it anymore, Vinny" I snap my eyes back to his, forcing them not to see him, but a stranger. "You hover over me like I'm a child. You never leave. You act like I'm a dog on your leash. I am so much more than you but you think that you're perfect. I can't stand it anymore – I can't stand _you_. _I hate you_. The only reason I've kept you around is that you can cook-" I pause; my hands are trembling so hard that I have to jam them into my armpits. "-and you're not horrible in bed, but the men in the Capitol could teach you a thing or two."

He could have ignored everything I said by the way he suddenly reacts to that. His lips open slightly and instead of confusion he suddenly morphs into a face of anger and, as much as I wish I didn't see it, hurt. I can't blame him for being confused. It doesn't make sense. I made it up on a whim. But it doesn't matter how true it is anymore.

"What?" his voice shakes ever so slightly. I know he's trying to sound vague but it's clear what he's asking.

I snort and roll my eyes again. My chest aches, like it could split open at any second and show him just how bad this hurts. I haven't said a single thing I mean. None of its true. No one could be better than him – no one is so selfless, so gentle, or so caring as him.

"Oh sure" I say nonchalantly, "I can do anything I want to. _Right now_ I'm telling you to get out. I'm done with you, Vinny. I don't want you here anymore."

There's so much venom in my voice that it takes even me by surprise. Vinny shakes his head, his mouth hanging open as he searches for the right words. He glances down at his feet quickly and for a moment I think he's actually going to leave, but when he snaps his eyes back to mine I can see the blaze of anger in them.

"No" he says firmly. "You can't just tell me to leave like I'm nothing. What the hell is wrong with you?" he asks with a firm voice.

I press my lips tightly together, forcing myself to stand still and strong when my body wants to shrink away. "I can." His jaw clenches but he doesn't move. "Vinny," I sigh "you can stand here and argue, you can try to convince yourself that you're _important_ , but you're not. You might be bigger than me, hell, even stronger, but I know you watched me in that arena, I know you know what I can do."

He stares at me in shock. I've just dropped a bomb on him and he's struggling to figure out why. " _Get out!_ " I scream, reaching out to slam my hand against his chest, shoving him backwards.

Doubt flickers across his face. He doesn't know I'm lying through my teeth, that even that simple motion burns like an inferno. "You aren't the same" he says. I feel my face falter. He doesn't sound angry or particularly upset. He speaks like he's stating a simple fact – like the sky is blue. "There's something wrong with you. I know what the Games can do to someone but you… you're not you anymore.

It feels like a knife being plunged into my heart. I swallow heavily, keeping my face as stoic as ever. I raise my eyebrows, waiting for more but he falls silent. If I open my mouth now I'm not sure what will come out, so I breathe heavily, sucking in a long breath and letting it out slowly.

"Then you should've left a long time ago." I have to speak slowly, focusing on each word to make sure my voice doesn't shake.

Vinny nods his head. "I should've" he mutters, finally tearing away his gaze to push past me and march down the hall.

I'm paralyzed, unable to even turn my head to watch as he goes down the stairs and crosses the creaky wooden floor to the front door. There isn't even a second of hesitation before it opens and slams shut.

 _Come back_ , I want to scream. If he came back through the door I would fall to my knees and beg him to stay – to forgive me. I stand there waiting, listening for the familiar sound of the door swinging open. But it doesn't come.

I lift my eyes back to the bedroom, sunlight now washing over the bed. My eyes are suddenly dry and my throat clear. Do I have any tears left in me to cry? Instead of the pain, a creeping numbness crawls down my limbs. My chest rings hollow and my arms fall heavily to my sides. I should feel something, but I don't.

Is this what I've done to myself? Is this what I do?

Letting out a frustratingly steady breath, I turn towards the stairs, taking them slowly. My head doesn't tremble when I reach out and lock the door. If he comes back… I won't be here to listen to him. I need him to hate me. I need him to get as far from me as possible. That's the only way he'll stay safe. That's the only way he'll stay alive.

I lean my forehead against the door, starring down at my bare feet. "I love you" I whisper, knowing that I'll never tell him so again.


	52. Chapter 52

"To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is the bad dream"

~Sylvia Plath, _The Bell Jar_

I pace the length of my living room – back and forth, back and forth until I've nearly run a trail in the soft rug. I'm exhausted with a lack of sleep and irritated as well as angry at having nothing better to do that sit here and wait. I can't help but feel like the last cow in line for slaughter; I know it's coming, I'm terrified out of my mind, and yet there isn't a single thing I can do about it.

My fingers instinctively reach up and take hold of my necklace. The charms roll between my fingers, their presence both comforting and painful. The whole summer has been hell, knowing that at the end, the reaping loomed. It was bearable until the Victory tour rolled through. I refused to attend the party when they stopped here. I knew Finnick wouldn't be with them, so there wasn't any point in going. And then, since Vinny left, I've been a wreck. I've taken to not sleeping, and, when I eventually do, I've had some of the worst nightmares yet. And now, here I am, pacing with anxiety.

At least I won't be the newest mentor anymore. I'm still popular, as unfortunate as it is. Blight took the liberty of watching one of Ceaser Flickerman's pre-reaping specials and apparently I still take up a good portion of the conversation. Why couldn't I have been a nobody Victor? Why couldn't I just win and they all forget about me?

Blight talks to me more than he ever did. I'm sullen and angry and spend most of our conversations calling him names because _he_ is the one who made me get rid of Vinny. I still stand by that decision, and I never once open the door when he knocks but it _hurts_ and Blight is the one who gave me the idea. I think Derek must have told him, hence his attempts at conversation. He feels bad, but I'm confident he doesn't regret it,

I nearly stop breathing when a knock comes at my door. I know it's Derek but I still feel my heart flutter with hope when I pull it open. I don't hide my disappointment but Derek doesn't seem to care; he's as distracted as I am today. We walk together in silence to the town center, Adele being the only one to say anything between us. People are everywhere, getting to where they need to be, looking to friends and family for support. I catch all of their faces, wondering which two will soon be with me. Which families will be planning funerals tonight?

Karina finds us nearly as soon as we arrive to usher us to our spots. Her smile and cheery small talk are soon abandoned for an irritated scowl at my lack of "hospitality." She ignores me up until the point the mayor begins his speech about the dark days and still keeps her chin pointedly forward while he reminds us that we're supposed to be grateful for the Capitol's _generosity_ at allowing us to live despite our rebellion. As if we had any say in it.

A part of me screams to fight. The Mayor believes his words as little as the rest of us, why should he have to speak them, or us listen? The Capitol rules with fear, but we have the numbers. Just from running my eyes over the crowd I know there's enough of us to take down the Peacekeepers and their guns. But that would be suicide, wouldn't it? But they have bombs. And hoverships. I want to do _something_. But I can't. I'm hopelessly stuck.

Karina smiles broadly when it's her turn to take the microphone. She practically dances her way over to the glass bowl. My heart drums in my ears as she pulls out a slip. When she clears her throat she sounds almost happy. "Jillian Collins!" she shouts.

I find her emerging from the seventeen-year-old section, her eyes glossy with terror. Her eyes move wildly, desperate for someone to do something to save her. But there are no volunteers out here. She turns to look over her shoulder as she reaches the stage. I try to follow her gaze but I can't see who she's looking for other than they belong with fourteen of thirteen- year-olds. Sibling loyalty doesn't extend to The Hunger Games. I wonder if that's what she's hoping for – for her younger sister to jump in and save her, or if she's looking to make sure she doesn't. I had the same thought myself at every reaping: what would I do if I was called and Lily volunteered? They'd have to kill me right there to keep her from going. But that doesn't matter anymore; she'll never be in a reaping anyway.

I blink away the thought as the girl climbs the stage. She looks right at me; her brown eyes are filled with tears. Already I know that she'll hardly make it a day.

Karina moves on quickly to the boy. "Ivan Wilson!" she calls him. My throat constricts tightly when he steps out from the thirteen-year-olds. By his height and features I would've thought him hardly more than ten.

They're taken inside to say their goodbyes while Derek and I almost simultaneously sink down onto a dark couch in the hall. I worry at the edge of my shirt, though it's not much of a distraction. Blight wanders up a minute or so later, hovering near us. I don't acknowledge him, but Derek seems happy that he's here. Maybe he actually likes him or is just happy to have him to talk to while we wait. Even with my eyes on the floor I notice Blight glancing over at me every few seconds. I bite my cheek and ignore it, hoping that maybe he'll just leave. But he doesn't. he keeps looking at me and my nerves, already dangerously thin, feel like they're going to snap.

"Do you have a problem?" I sneer, looking up at him.

Both he and Derek go silent, looking over at me. Karina, who is down the hall even looks over.

"Just… shut up" I huff, leaning back in the couch, running my fingers through my hair.

Jillian and Ivan don't take long with their goodbyes. Karina leads the group of us out to the car and poses us for photos before allowing us onto the silent train. No one says a word once the door closes behind us. Even Karina seems to realize that it isn't the time for needless chatter.

Derek lets them both go to their rooms until dinner. Selfishly I'm relieved when the door closes behind them; they can cry by themselves. I sit in a chair, ignoring Derek, ignoring Karina, just staring out into the rapidly moving trees.

Subconsciously I find my hand reaching towards the window, where I press my fingers against the cool glass. Outside, the world moves so fast that it makes my head hurt, but I don't look away. Vaguely I'm aware of my own reflection staring back at me with sunken eyes and lips chewed raw. I don't look anything like a Victor.

Derek seems irritated with me when we all sit down to eat a few hours later. I don't look at either of the tributes, just down at my food. I remember being in their place and it almost makes me sick to think of it.

Derek finishes a glass of wine, then two, then three before leaning back in his chair to look them both over. "So," he sighs, "what can you do?"

Jillian looks up first. Without tears in her eyes she looks stronger, but I notice her throat bob as she meets Derek's stare. "Well, I've worked in the lumber yard for the last two years."

"So has everyone else" I mutter. "You're from District 7, everyone already expects that you know trees and axes."

She bites her lips and drops her eyes to the table. "Johanna" Derek warns, turning his head to look at me.

"It's the truth" I say, dropping my fork onto my plate with a clatter. I don't know where it's from but I can feel the boiling wave of rage rolling through my veins. This is so wrong. So _sick_. I pause, feeling bile rise in my throat as I remember Vinny using the same word only a few weeks before. "You want advice?" I ask, looking back at the tributes, who have both gone pale. "Step off that pedestal. Don't run, don't fight, because you don't have a chance of coming back home. I hope you said goodbye."

Neither of them say anything. Not even Derek seems to know what to say. A tear rolls down Jillian's face but other than that, time could be frozen by how still everything is. I'm not wrong, and that's why no one argues. I'm still angry. Lately all I seem to be able to feel is anger, but growing beneath it is the rising numbness. I can feel my insides falling away into the abyss, leaving me completely empty.

We watch the reapings with tense apprehension. The Careers are as strong as ever and there's two others that might get lucky, but otherwise it's nothing special. No one stands out as the clear winner this year.

Derek tries to get them talking but neither of them answers with much more than a nod or shake of the head. He tries to give them advice, to tell them that skill doesn't mean as much as how much you want to win. He's right, but I keep my mouth shut and eyes trained out the window. It's true, but neither of them have that desire or will that'll keep them alive. But, skill still matters, and they have none.


	53. Chapter 53

"Do I dare disturb the universe?"

~T.S. Eliot, _The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock_

In the morning we get off the train early enough that the sun hasn't had the chance to warm up the air and goosebumps rise on my skin.

Karina takes Jillian and Ivan up to where Lucille and the other stylist will get them ready for the parade. I'm sure they'll be dressed like trees like every year. I would've thought people so dedicated to fashion would be more creative.

I have to swallow the urge to scream as the atmosphere of the training center falls around me. What I would give to stay anywhere else but here. I trail behind Derek towards the elevator that will take us up to our floor when I hear someone walking quickly behind me. I hardly have to turn my head to see Finnick following after us, his characteristic grin already in place. I open my mouth to greet him but he pulls me into a bone crushing hug. Surprise makes my breath catch in my throat, but I find myself hugging him back.

"I need to talk to you" he whispers so quietly I can hardly hear him. "It's important."

I push back from him and look at his face. He looks much the same, as pretty and arrogant as ever but I can see something shining in his eyes that makes my chest flutter. "Yeah, sure" I murmur, turning to follow him and Derek into the elevator.

Derek doesn't look at me or Finnick as we ride up and up; he just stares forward like he's suddenly angry at Finnick's appearance. I can't deny that I'm curious. Did something happen to Annie? Is it something with his tributes? With mine? My mind increasingly races faster, each idea coming up even more gut wrenching than the one before. Finally, the door slides open on my floor and Finnick all but drags me down the hall into my room. I'm ready to question him, but I'm left with my mouth open as he walks briskly into my bathroom, beckoning me in with a wave as he reaches in and turns on the shower.

He grins at me, apparently amused by my confusion. He wants to _shower_? "Trust me" he says almost too quietly for me to hear.

"What?" I ask. My hands twitch nervously. "Finnick I don't-" I try to protest but he cuts me off.

"Jo" he sighs, using my apparent new pet name. "Please."

"I-" I begin but something in his faces makes me hesitate. All of his humor and general _giddiness_ are gone and he's looking at me intensely. There's something in his expression that makes me shudder. The last time I saw a look like that was in the Games, right when Hubert thought he was going to kill me… It's less sinister but I can feel the threat – not towards me necessarily, but in general. I nod curtly, curiosity getting the best of me.

Before stepping in, however, Finnick peels off his shirt, giving me a look like I should do the same. "Finnick" I say, once again apprehensive. "No offense, but we're not having sex."

He laughs, shaking his head. "No, we definitely aren't. Keep your clothes on for all I care."

I stand there open mouthed as he continues his process of stripping. He's entirely naked before he sticks his arm in the shower, the rest of him following afterwards. He looks at me through the glass, beaming as he jerks his head for me to follow.

Letting out a long sigh combined with a frustrated groan, I nod. Feeling like an idiot, I pull my shirt over my head. Finnick whistles and I flash him my middle finger, which only makes him laugh harder. Still, I follow suit, depositing my clothes on the floor before giving Finnick one more apprehensive look.

He takes me by the arm and pulls me into the shower after him. The sudden urge to laugh overtakes me, making the corners of my lips pull up into a small smile. What the hell is going on? We're both in the shower, completely naked, Finnick smiling like a conspiratorial madman and I'm going along with it. Regardless, I face him, my eyebrows raised threateningly.

Once he's sure I'm not leaving, Finnick spins around lathering his hands with shampoo and running it through his hair. I raise an eyebrow at him, still having no idea what the hell is going on. He just smiles at me, looking like an excited toddler.

"Might as well take advantage of it" he says with a shrug. "Turn around" he says, reaching for more shampoo, "I'll do you."

I can't stop the laugh. "Will you now?"

He rolls his eyes, still smirking. "Jo, you dirty girl. Sorry to break it to you, but I'm spoken for." He makes a motion with his hand and, laughing, I turn around as he commands.

Behind me, Finnick begins the process of massaging shampoo into my hair. "You're not going to believe me" he starts, speaking quietly into my ear from behind. "But I need you to try, okay? I need you to listen to me. I'm not going to lie to you, I swear." He must sense the look on my face because he lets out a breath. "Promise me you'll let me tell you what I need to. Promise?"

I blink a few times, still wary myself. Is he crazy? Has he gone mad? I nod slowly, like someone would when listening to a toddler's made up story.

"You hate the Capitol" he says, his voice trembling with excitement. "You want to see Snow dead. The Games _gone_ ," he doesn't ask, he says. "There's a way to make that happen. We're trying to do it. We want your help; you could help us-"

He's talking so fast that it even takes him a minute to see me holding up my hand, stopping him. "Finnick" I snap, bringing him to silence. I shift awkwardly, turning slightly to look at him. "What the _hell_ are you talking about?"

He shakes his head, seemingly frustrated by the question. " _Rebellion_ , Jo" he finally gets out. "It's been happening for years. The Victors, District higher ups, even a few Capitol people, District 13. _District 13_." He pauses when I open my mouth to stop him again but he waves his hand. His hand comes down on my shoulder, making me turn back so he can repeat the process of running his fingers through my hair.

Before I can argue or question him anymore he plunges into a tale, one involving too many people and too many secrets. I wouldn't believe it if it weren't him, and if there wasn't the trembling excitement in his voice as he talks. He goes on about District 13 and the other Victors in particular, about the secrets they've uncovered and plans they've secured. It's overwhelming and rather hopeless but something in the way he talks makes me believe in him and makes me feel something I haven't felt in a long time. _Hope_.

"Okay, fine" I say, turning back to face him when he finally lets me go. "This sounds great, but what am I supposed to do about it?"

This is where Finnick hesitates. "Well, there's not much for people like you and me to do except gather information from… people." I make a face, clearly not understanding what he's trying to say. He breathes deeply, his gaze sympathetic. "No one suspects us of anything, Jo, especially not the rich Capitol fucks. We get into their homes, their offices, their phones… and we have everything."

My stomach knots but I keep my face still. "And how would I get into their homes?"

"You know how" he groans, grimacing at the thought himself. "If we have to do it, we might as well have a reason."


	54. Chapter 54

"I assign myself no rank or any limit, and such an attitude is very much against the trends of the times. But my world has become one of infinite possibilities"

~Ralph Ellison, _Invisible Man_

The night is suffocating. I lie curled up on my side, my limbs aching to move but exhaustion simultaneously keeping them still. My eyes feel heavy but my mind is racing too fast to allow me to sleep. I try to push the thoughts away but they keep coming back.

Somewhere, outside the Capitol, away from the Districts, there's a rebellion in the works. For years' people have been working secretly and I've been none the wiser. To be fair, nothing seems to have changed. Finnick is involved. _A lot_ of Victors are involved; and they want me to help. If they caught me or anyone else, it would be death. It would be safer to say no, to pretend I never heard anything and hope no one comes to arrest me, but I don't want safety. I'm not afraid to die. Now at least, there's a goal. I won't be content until they're all gone and Snow is dead.

Hours pass without sleep. Twice I almost climb out of bed to go demand Finnick explain it all again, just to verify the truth, to make sure it wasn't all a dream. But I know I can't do that. Don't do anything suspicious – that's what Finnick told me.

Finally, the sun rises enough for me to get out of bed. I sigh, stretching out my arms as I kick off the blankets and get to my feet. I dress simply and stand in the bathroom, looking at myself in the mirror as I brush through my hair. Looking into the glass I have the sudden thought that there could be cameras in the mirror. I blink slowly, letting my eyes wander the shiny surface, looking for anything abnormal. Of course I don't find anything, but even as I leave the room there's a nagging suspicion in my gut that I'm being watched.

I force myself to sit quietly through breakfast with Derek and the tributes. Jillian peers at me over a steaming mug. Something about her look bothers me. It's like the way my mother used to look at me when she knew I did something wrong and wanted me to confess to it. It makes me feel anxious, and each time I look up at her she ducks her head down, pretending not to have ever looked to me.

" _What_?" I hiss finally.

She jumps like I shouted at her. Her hands clutch at her mug like a lifeline, "W-what?"

"What's wrong?" Ivan asks, his voice sounding sturdier than I'd imagine for a thirteen-year-old on death row.

"I'm not talking to you" I growl at him. He makes a face and looks down at his lap. The two of them exchange a quick glance, making me clench my jaw in irritation. "Do you two have something to say?"

Karina makes a clucking sound, clearly upset by my behavior. "Johanna, please" she sighs.

I shoot her an icy glare, "problem?"

"You don't need to take out your problems on these two" she gestures at Jillian and Ivan. "They haven't done anything to warrant this behavior."

The room is silent. Derek is watching me cautiously, but his mouth is pressed shut. Jillian and Ivan both stare down, silent as the grave, like they'd prefer to disappear. I stare at Karina, various insults racing through my mind that would send her away shaking. Something catches at my tongue, though. She meets my stare and I notice that the blue in her eyes is the exact shade of her wig.

I let out a long breath and prop my elbows on the table. "Why are you here?" I ask calmly, despite the anger I feel whenever I look at her. Her eyebrows furrow in confusion and her mouth opens but no sound comes out. "Why would you come eat breakfast here when Derek and I" I glance over at him "obviously don't want you. And they" I look pointedly at the tributes "will be dead within the week. Is it fun for you? Do you get some sick enjoyment out of it?" I'm surprised to her my voice turning squeaky by the end.

Between every bad thought I've ever had about Karina, this is one question I genuinely want an answer to. What would motivate someone to be an escort? Does she even care about us at all?

"It-It's my job" she stammers.

I press my lips together, scowling violently. "Well, fucking fantastic job you're doing at it." I push up from the table but instead of going to my room, I push the button for the elevator.

Finnick is seemingly waiting for me, sitting at the matching table on the fourth floor instead of the seventh. His grin upon seeing me is enough to make me forget my anger and smile back at him.

"Good morning" he nearly purrs, his eyes alive and shining.

Across from him, an old woman turns around. Mags. I've only spoken to her once and I'm not currently in the mood for pleasantries. Especially not for someone Finnick cares so much about.

"You ready?" I snap, crossing my arms.

After a long sigh, Finnick gets to his feet, silently joining me in the elevator to the control room. "Sweet dreams?" he asks, smirking, as I push past him once the doors open.

I nod in return, my gaze sweeping around the room. I assumed no one would be down here – why would anyone want to spend _more_ time here? But there's a few other Victors milling around, talking quietly and looking at numbers on their screens. At District 2, Enobaria snaps her head up just as I'm looking at her. She sneers wickedly, flashing those ridiculous sharpened teeth. I roll my eyes dramatically and look back at Finnick.

He seems amused by the silent exchange but he doesn't comment on it. "Come on" he jerks his head, "I want to introduce you to someone."

I keep my lips pressed firmly together as I follow him to the left, down a row of computers. There's only two people sitting on this side of the room, so it's no question who he's bringing me to. District 3 – technology; that's no surprise. They'd be quite the little masterminds. But as for their names… I have nothing.

"Beetee" Finnick calls as he steps up behind the short, dark haired man. _Beetee_ I repeat to myself but it doesn't ring any bells. He turns in his chair, his glasses falling down his nose, and receding hair a mess. He looks like someone who's too smart, which, I guess, is a good thing in this instance. "Have you met Johanna yet?"

He meets my eyes, his face quizzical as he studies me for a long moment before looking towards Finnick, "no, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."

He smiles, an expression that doesn't look natural on his wide, compact face. I nod but keep my mouth still. The sound of murmuring pulls my attention away from both of them and focuses it on the woman at Beetee's side, her back still towards us and her face glued to the screens. She's singing? Or muttering to herself? I can see her lips twitching with the words, though I can't make out any of them.

"Wiress" Beetee calls, catching her attention. _Wiress_. Still nothing. She turns to look between me and Finnick, her eyes dancing wildly as her muttering increases in tempo. "This is Johanna Mason."

At my name she flicks her head up to look me in the eyes. She cocks her head to one side, then to the other, speaking quietly all the while. I look between Beetee and Finnick, but neither of them seem particularly concerned by her behavior. Is she insane?

"She doesn't speak much" Beetee says finally, and Wiress immediately turns back in her chair to whatever she was doing. "The Games messed with her head but she's still incredibly smart. Smarter than the rest of us, I think."

I knit my eyebrows and nod. I sincerely hope that isn't true or else we're all in trouble.

"So," Finnick sighs, sounding particularly bored. "What've you been working on lately?"

That makes his eyes light up and he whirls around the rummage around in a small bag. I press my lips together tightly, trying to remember his name, which I've already forgotten. _Beetle? Boris?_ It definitely started with a B. I keep my face straight and hope I won't need it when he turns back towards me with a small silver device in his hands. Immediately I notice how both he and Finnick shift so that they're standing between it and the computers. No privacy down here either I suppose.

"It's meant to look like jewelry – a necklace, bracelet, even a watch if you'd like," he turns it around as he speaks "but in the edge here is a camera, almost invisible." I look where he points but I don't see anything. "It's meant to help keep you from getting lost or out of a bad situation; you take a picture of your path, or anyone who may be nearby, and suddenly you have a memory, and evidence." His eyes narrow ever so slightly when he says the last bit, as if I might not understand what he's insinuating. I give him a mildly annoyed glare in response. "It's simple, but it's useful" he murmurs, "you can have it, if you want it. They're really very easy to make."

It's cold when he drops it into my hand, but I take it without a word.

I sleep, but fretfully. Finnick and I spend the day together, talking idly and pretending we didn't commit an act of treason that would certainly get us both killed. I can't bear to go back up to my floor for dinner. Already I see Jillian and Ivan's dead faces each time I blink. So, as has become apparently custom, Finnick and I hide together and end up falling asleep in his bed.

I lie on my back, watching the shadows dancing on the ceiling as the sun rises. Finally, I force myself out of the warmth and comfort of the blankets. I have to untangle myself a bit, making Finnick stir. I look over at him as I stand, sleeping peacefully. I can only imagine what it looks like to anyone paying attention. But there's nothing like that – no romance, no lust, and definitely no sex. Finnick has Annie and until a few weeks ago, I had Vinny. It's comfort and safety. It's hard to sleep when you know that dreams will come to haunt you.

As much as I try to leave quietly, as soon as I reach the door, Finnick raises his head. "Morning" he murmurs, running his hand over his face. "Leaving already?" he asks. I nod quickly, not staying any longer for fear that I won't leave at all. As much as it hurts to see them, they're my tributes and it's my job to be there.

It doesn't take my long to get upstairs, shower and change my clothes before heading to breakfast. I even make it out before the tributes do, though when they see me they both drop their gazes and fall silent. Derek gets them talking about training, and apparently they aren't _completely_ useless – only mostly. They loosen up over breakfast, but as soon as Karina declares it time to go, they fall back into terrified silence.

"I won't be here tonight" I say before they stand. They look at me with wide eyes. "No one else can get you sponsors like I can" I mutter. Little do they know that I likely won't be convincing anyone of their superiority, but winning their money by losing my clothes. The little metal bracelet burns on my wrist as I mention it. It better fucking work.

Both of them mutter a thanks, almost looking revived by my words. I bite back the words to crush their spirits with a sip of coffee. There's worse things than hope.


	55. Chapter 55

"We accept the love we think we deserve"

~Stephen Chbosky, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

The second and third day of training crush any hopes Derek or I might have had of our tributes suddenly becoming a success. They get low scores and their odds continuously plummet. Their interviews are a wreck and no one expects them to get past the cornucopia. They don't get sponsors, as much as I talk and flirt with Capitol men – and women. Even those who I talk far enough into getting alone, their hands around my waist and tongue down my throat won't give a cent. "Throwing away money" one man says. I stand around the corner of the dining room, listening to the soft conversation between the six of them; Derek, the tributes, Karina, and the stylists. They almost sound happy. Or at least not completely miserable. I lean my head against the wall, my vision blurring with the sudden wave of sorrow. I don't need to be at their dinner. Not tonight.

I turn and walk back to my room, kicking my shoes at the door and falling back onto my bed. I know what's in my head, but I can't fight it from picking at me. I miss Vinny. It kills me to think I'll go home and he won't be there at the train station. I press my eyes closed, the lights of the city casting fireworks into the darkness.

 _"_ _Do you ever wish you could see into the future and just know what your life will be like?" Vinny asks, looking at me with his light brown eyes._

 _"_ _Why?" I mutter, kicking a rock out of the path. Sweat has plastered my shirt to my skin, making me feel particularly uncomfortable. Vinny looks much the same – exhausted after a day working in the lumber yard; dawn to dusk. "It's not like it's possible."_

 _"_ _Well, I think it would be interesting. I want to know if this" he waves his hands at the trees "will mean anything. I want to know who I'll marry, how many kids I'll have, that sort of thing."_

 _"_ _No way" I laugh, shaking my head. "I don't want to know any of that. Besides, I'm_ definitely _not having kids."_

 _He raises his eyebrows, not looking particularly surprised. "Why not? Don't you want a little Cam and Lily?"_

 _I hesitate, pressing my lips together against a smile. "They're precisely the reason I won't have kids. I have them and I certainly don't need any more."_

I feel the tears running down my cheeks and burning my eyes as I sit on the bed. _Vinny_. His name burns in my mind. I lost him, I sent him away, for what? To protect him? To protect me? Either way its bullshit.

It's their fault; the Capitol, Snow, everyone. I ball my fists under my thighs, misery making my bones ache. If I hadn't won, if I didn't have the threat of their lives hanging over me, if my family was alive… if, if, if. I don't get to have anything because of them. I throw myself down onto the pillows, curling my knees into my chest. It's the Capitol's fault. Isn't it?

Some time passes before I sit up with my head pounding. My room is suffocating and I suddenly can't bear being in it a moment longer. I jump to my feet and throw my door open, not even bothering to put on shoes as I pace down the hallway. I jerk to an abrupt halt when I find Derek sitting on the couch in the living room, staring blankly at the T.V. He looks so tired that it makes me feel bad. He takes on the whole burden of being kind to them and caring for them and I just yell and hide.

"Why do you care so much?" I ask as I walk up behind him. I didn't mean for the words to come out, but I'm comfortable with Derek; he's more like family at this point.

He turns his head to look at me. He nods at the spot on the couch next to him, so I sit, close enough for our shoulders to touch. "I wish I didn't. But…" he sighs and rubs a hand over his exhausted eyes "I just can't let them die without knowing that _someone_ cares." He leans forward, reaching out for a bottle I didn't notice was there. He takes a long drink before leaning back against the cushions to look at me. "Isn't that what we all want? Someone to love us and take care of us? I don't always know if it's the right choice but…" he shrugs, taking another drink. He hands the bottle to me next, saying definitively "you look like you need a drink."

I nod, taking it from him. It burns as I swallow but I don't stop. I stop only to breathe, letting the drink do its work in making my stomach radiate warmth. "I'm sorry I can't help" I choke out between ragged breaths.

"We all deal with it differently" he sighs with a small smile. "It took me years to figure it out, too."

I purse my lips and stare idly at some stupid T.V. show; at least they're not talking about the Games tomorrow. The thought of going to sleep makes my heart skip in panic, so I down another gulp of the burning, amber liquid. Even Finnick agreed that we should be in our own beds tonight, though I was selfishly happy to see that he seemed bothered by being alone. I have to take Jillian up to the hovercraft in the morning, which is one responsibility I can't shy away from.

That doesn't mean I have to go to bed now, though. I know it's not a good idea, but I drink enough of the bottle that my head starts to swim, and the anxiety of sleeping alone begins to ebb. Derek seems content, too, a smile even playing on his lips as we talk. I even get him to laugh once over some stupid joke that I can hardly remember even as I say it. It takes a few hours, but we both drink away the terror of the night and somehow wander to our own rooms, where I find my cheeks as dry as sand when I lie on my pillow.


	56. Chapter 56

**Sorry this is late! I drove back to my apartment yesterday from my parent's house to find that the heating and hot water were broken so I had to deal with that. They weren't able to fix it until this morning (about 20 minutes ago) so fingers crossed it starts warming up in here! Currently it's only 53 degrees (Fahrenheit) and snowing outside so it's been fun over here.**

* * *

"Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light"

~Dylan Thomas, _Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night_

Jillian is killed at the cornucopia. She's stabbed through the stomach by the girl from 2 in an attempt to grab a bundle food. She doesn't die immediately, which is worse. She falls to the grass, her hands clutching her abdomen as blood pumps through her fingers. Tears roll down her face and as her breathing becomes hitched, she calls out for her mother. I stay and watch the whole thing, until the final beat of her heart. Even then, I stay watching until her body is taken away and the screen flickers to black.

I lean back in my chair, tilting my face up towards the ceiling. She was sweet, brave. She would have gone somewhere. I grimace when I remember thinking the same about Milena. Maybe I'll think that about everyone.

It might be midday but I find myself turning longingly towards the circular counter in the center of the room. Briefly I consider just getting myself coffee but, at the last second, I fill a glass with liquor. I'm not the first or only to be drinking in the room. Nothing wrong with a little numbing, is there?

Turning back towards my station, where Derek is sitting with his eyes half closed in exhaustion, I turn my attention momentarily to the side, where the Career stations are clustered. None of them seem particularly concerned by the events, and other than quiet murmurings, they're the only ones talking.

As I pass by, Enobaria, who's sitting at the edge of the group, looks up at me. Her eyes are like dark, bottomless pits, full of fury and hatred. I don't back down, staring back with full force. Her tribute just killed my own, that's reason enough for anger.

" _Smile_ , sweetheart, it looks better on you" I purr, knowing full well it'll only piss her off.

She glares at me, her arms crossed tightly over her stomach. "A little early to start drinking, no?" is all she responds with.

"Not early enough, I'd say" I say with a smile. I'm vaguely aware of one of the older Victors from 2 looking at me, still a pile of meat even past fifty years old. "Want a glass?" I ask sweetly, seeing her eyes narrow.

"Drink with _you_?" she scoffs. "I'd rather burn in hell."

I raise my eyebrows, taking a tentative sip of what I determine to be whiskey. "I can make that happen" I say with a wink, raising my glass towards her "cheers." I walk away despite her eyes boring holes into the back of my skull.

Ivan, for the moment, is still alive. He had the sense to run from the cornucopia and hide in some dry bushes until the survivors dispersed. He won't make it much longer though. Already he's dehydrated and there's very little water in this arena. There's no way he could survive a confrontation with any remaining tributes.

I stay sitting and watching and occasionally drinking. I don't get drunk, I make sure not too, but I drink enough to take the edge off.

It's long past midnight but I'm still awake, watching and waiting. My head is propped in my hand and my eyes burn with exhaustion but I refuse to sleep. I might not be like Derek, I might not be able to show them affection or harbor their hope, but I will not let them die alone. They don't even know I'm here, and I know it makes no difference, but I can't leave them. Not even for a second.

I let my eyes flutter close for a moment, but instead of relief I see Jillian's face looking up at me, full of horror and panic. When I brought her up to the hovercraft I told her it would all be okay. I told her she wouldn't be alone. I wouldn't lie to her and tell her she might live, because she wouldn't, but I told her that it wasn't her fault. If I couldn't help her then I was going to at least let my last words be comforting ones.

The words ring in my ears for days as her image burns against my eyelids. I push my way from the table, choosing to at least go take a shower and watch the Games in my room. But I barely make I out the door when a woman with sea green hair cuts me off. I try to push past her but she jumps in my way, gloved hand grabbing my arm.

I wrench myself free so aggressively that she stumbles forward. "Who the _hell_ do you think you are?" I hiss, turning to face her.

She asks me some ridiculous question about Jillian. About her death. I stare at her dumbfounded, noticing the small camera in her hand. _Reporter_. " _Are you kidding me_?" I ask, hands clenched into fists. "You don't touch me. You don't talk to me. Go bother someone else who gives a damn."

"But-" the woman begins to protest but I wave my hand, cutting her off.

"Say one more thing and I'll take that fucking camera and shove it down your throat, understand?"

The woman's eyes double in size and, when I keep staring, she nods. Sneering I turn on my heel and stalk to the elevator.

It takes two more days before Ivan dies. He's too dehydrated and lies slumped against a tree when the girl from 11 finds him. He stares up at the branches, seeming to know exactly where the cameras lie. I'm able to look directly into his eyes and see the fear in them.

I watch silently as the fear flickers away and leaves an emptiness. The girl kills him, but within the hour is killed herself by the Careers.

And so I'm done. My tributes are dead and the Games are over for District 7. I get up, stretching my arms over my head before throwing them down in a huff. Finnick peers at me, nodding with quiet understanding.

"Well, that's it for me" I mutter, stepping over to stand beside him. I glance down at his screen, where his tribute is walking slowly through the arena.

"You good?" Finnick asks, spinning in his chair.

"Brilliant" I say with a scoff and an eye roll. Already I can feel the tightening in my chest and I know that tonight the dreams will be horrendous. But I won't show that now. Not here.

"You're not doing too bad" I comment, nodding at his screens. He's district 4. When it comes down to it, they're very competitive. Not quite on the level of 1 and 2, but close.

"Sure" he nods. "Won't last long though," he taps that image of the boy from 1. "Too aggressive. Beat that kid's head in with a rock. Even though he had a knife."

I press my lips together and glance away. "Well, good luck" I say quietly. I don't have to mention that I've done the same, although I had no other weapon to make my kill. It's definitely violent, and a horrid way to die.

I let out a long sigh before looking back at him. "I'm not hanging out here. Probably going to pass out if I don't get some sleep soon."

Finnick nods once. "I'll see you, then."

"Yup. You know where to find me." He'll likely be here until his tributes are dead. I won't watch the rest of the Games, but he'll come when he's done.

"Sweet dreams" he calls after me, humor on his face.

I roll my eyes, sneering with a small smile before turning and stalking out of the room.

I ride the elevator back up to my floor but as soon as I step free from the metal doors, I'm halted. I don't know where to go, or what to do. It's so silent and empty. As silent as death. Not even an avox is in sight. I sway in place, my breath feeling harder to catch.

I sigh and walk slowly past the living room and dining room, down the long hall where our bedrooms lie. I don't go through any of the doors, but stop at the end of the hall, where a window spans the wall. My necklace rolls between my fingers as I stare down onto the street. There's a numb throbbing in my head as I watch people walk across the sidewalk and cars race past. It feels as if my brain is a scab, and I can't stop picking at it.

My fingers hold tightly to the two small charms around my neck. The lights below blur and distort, leaving only echoes of cars and people as they race through the colorful city. It looks like a dream but it feels so real.


	57. Chapter 57

"Deep in the human unconscious is a pervasive need for a logical universe that makes sense. But the real universe is always one step beyond logic"

~Frank Herbert, _Dune_

For a moment I feel calm. The darkness is comforting in a way. It's one of those few moments that I can be completely invisible. Even the sound of the elevator opening doesn't register. I blink slowly when I finally realize that there's footsteps walking slowly towards me. Probably Derek, making his own way back to bed. "You wanting to drink again tonight?" I ask. I turn slowly, the cool air from the vent above me making goosebumps rise on my arms.

Finnick's eyebrows raise with a quiet smirk. His arms are crossed in front of him, his expression cautious. "I wasn't planning on it, but that's always a viable option." I can hear the strain in his voice. He's trying to gauge my mood, I know that. It's strange, having someone come after me. "Were you thinking mild headache or drunken stupor?" There's humor in his voice but I have no doubt that he would drink himself to death me with if that's what I wanted.

My heart wrenches painfully when I look at him. "Mine died too. A little while ago," he sighs. My throat is constricted but I force my face to stay indifferent. How long had I been staring out the window if another tribute already had time to die?

Just as I'm about to turn back around and let Finnick take the hint that I'm not in the mood to talk, he opens his mouth instead. "What's worse is now we're back on Snow's radar. Our job _here_ is done for the year."

For a moment I just stare blankly at him, knowing he's trying to tell me something without explicitly saying it. I bite sharply into my cheek and silently shriek to myself. Of course he's implying that Snow will pimp us out to the highest bidders, but he's also talking about something more. The damned bracelet burns against my skin. I haven't taken it off for a second. I nod curtly. "Lots of good we did too."

Finnick laughs, though he doesn't sound at all amused. I roll my eyes, crossing my arms like I'm angry, but we both know I'm not. I push away from the wall, briskly turning down the hall back towards the small dining area. Maybe the premise of getting drunk isn't as unappealing as I thought.

I make it to the marble shelved bar but I don't pull anything down. I press my hands against it, feeling the icy coolness radiate through my fingers. I was wrong. The Games aren't done for District 7 quite yet. I'm a spy, a goddamned spy. It almost makes me laugh at the thought of it but there's that spot in the back of my brain that reminds me that if I get caught I'll be dead.

It hits me like a train. I'll be doing what Snow wants, but I don't have to listen to him. Sure, I'll sleep my way through all the rich, self-important men, but he can't tell me where or when. I reach up and touch my necklace again, feeling the warmth of the soft metal.

Snow doesn't control me anymore. _So why am I waiting for his call_?

"You know," Finnick sighs, sounding strangely thoughtful, "there was a point in my life, before I got reaped of course, when all I wanted was to have sex every night." I raise my eyebrows, scoffing at the comment. He holds his hand out, stopping me with faux-annoyed eye roll. "But I swear to God, when this is all over, I'm going to be celibate."

This time I _actually_ laugh. Finnick Odair – celibate. It doesn't seem likely. Smiling to myself I pull free a half-empty bottle of what looks like tequila but I can't be sure through the psychedelic label wrapped around it.

Finnick clears his throat behind me, making me splash a little on my hand. "Are you going to share?"

"Get your own" I say sharply. I bite my lip and look down at my feet with a long breath. "Sorry" I murmur.

"You are?" he steps up beside me, pouring himself his own, brimming glass. I watch him as he turns to lean against the bar beside me. "I don't think I've ever hear you say that" he says with a smile.

I smirk with one corner of my mouth. "You probably haven't."

Finnick looks at me for a long moment before finally looking out into the dark, empty living room. It's comfortable, standing in silence. I appreciate that much about Finnick; I never feel obligated to speak when I don't want to. He understands that sometimes it takes too much effort.

And at this point that's more than I can ask for.

When I wake up the first thing I realize is that I left the blinds open. Rays of early morning, summer sun are shining right in my eyes, making me roll to the other side to avoid their glare. Finnick is still asleep beside me, one arm draped above his head. I didn't have a nightmare last night I realize suddenly. For the first night in weeks I've slept the whole night through.

I sit up slowly, dragging my hand through my short, tangled hair. Finnick groans like an old dog at my movement, his eyes opening halfway. "Why are you awake?" he asks, still half asleep.

"Why do you care?" I ask, looking down at him with a friendly eye roll. I always wake up before him anyway.

"Because you were awake all damn night. You should be sleeping" he murmurs, his eyes closed again.

" _Oh please_ " I laugh. "How would you know? You were asleep in minutes."

"Only because drunk Johanna is mean" he laughs.

Fair point. He gives up his argument to go back to sleep while I get up and shower. I find myself wondering after Derek. I never saw him come back last night, though I retreated back to my room almost as soon as Finnick showed up. He knows how to deal with losing tributes, but I'm still worried about him.

I get dressed and quietly leave my room where Finnick is softly snoring. Derek is sitting in his usual place at the table, looking up at me like he knew I was coming. "I didn't think I'd see you today," he says into his coffee, "you seem to be… _coping_."

"Save it, Derek" I spit angrily, suddenly not so concerned.

"I'm sorry. I just want to help you Johanna," he nods like he's truly apologetic. Leave it to Derek to ruin the only good mood I've had since being here.

It doesn't take long after me storming back into my room for Finnick to get up and get dressed. He wants to go back down to the control room, to see how his female tribute is holding up and to check on Brenda, his partner. As much as I'd prefer not to, I agree to go with him.

I look only at the center screens in the room, showing us what the rest of Panem is currently seeing. As if they knew my attention was back to the screens, the cameras all turn to the young boy from District 12, his breathing labored as he lies clearly dying in a sandy outcropping. I clutch my mug of coffee tightly, focusing on the burn of my fingertips over the pounding of my heart. The girl from 11 stands over him, panting with the effort of cutting him down. She has a knife ready in her hand, and in a sudden movement she cuts his throat and his cannon booms.

I'm watching so intently that the sound of yelling makes me gasp with surprise. " _Shit!_ " Haymitch shrieks, pushing away from his station. He's so drunk that it takes him multiple tries and a slew of cursing to actually get out of his chair. He staggers towards the door, losing his balance at the last second and crashes into my side. The hot coffee splashes over the brim, dripping down my hand with searing pain and sending the mug crashing to the floor. "Move dammit" Haymitch hisses. I grit my teeth, ready to fucking kill him when Finnick clamps his hand onto my upper arm.

"Don't touch me" I hiss at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" I growl, turning to Haymitch.

"You don't want to bring Peacekeepers down here, do you?" Finnick asks, always the voice of reason. "Is that worth it?"

"Almost" I sneer. He sighs but his hand loosens on my arm. I'm not going to do anything for the moment.

"Get out of here" Finnick says to Haymitch.

"Don't defend the bitch. She deserves more than _that_ " a voice says from the side. My head snaps towards the voice to see Enobaria, her arms crossed in front of her, smiling her fang-toothed grin.

Before Finnick can stop me I wrench my arm away from him. In less than a second I grab Enobaria and push her back against the wall with as much strength as I can muster. All the anger, towards Snow, towards the Capitol, the Games, is ready and willing beneath my skin. Besides, I never liked her anyway. She screeches in anger and flies at me, her fist colliding with my cheek with surprising force. I can hear her laugh as I stumble backwards. Finnick yells something at me but I'm not listening. I'm going to kill her.

She screams when I slam my elbow into her face and send her to the floor. I'm ready to strangle her when I feel someone grab the back of my shirt and pull me roughly backwards. I'm shocked to see it isn't Finnick who pulled me off her, but Derek. Finnick is looking at me with wide eyes, using his body as a shield between me and Enobaria. I would have killed her if I had the chance and I can tell from how she glares at me the feeling is mutual.

But as much as I want to finish what I started, the way Derek hauls me away makes me hesitate. He's furious, more than I've ever seen him. He's not old and weak and complacent, but sturdy and able to do whatever he chooses.

"Stop it Johanna, you're not a child" he snaps, letting go of my shirt only to spin me around to face him. I can see redness seeping into his face as he looks between me and Enobaria.

He looks how I imagine he did when he was a tribute himself.

Derek leads me away, taking me as far as the elevator before shoving me inside with Finnick in tow before turning on heel and striding away, shaking his head. The doors take an eternity to close, leaving me to stare after my mentor and Enobaria, as Shane, her district partner, helps her to her feet. Finnick looks at me as we start to rise. I meet his eyes, refusing to be sorry.

He tells me to sit on one of the leather couches on his floor and I obey. He puts his hand on my face, lightly touching me cheek where Enobaria hit me. Even with a light touch it's already painful to any sort of pressure. "You're going to have a nasty bruise, but you'll live" he says with a smile. I shrug, finally breaking eye contact to stare through the TV, the bloody remains of the District 12 boy's death still on screen.


	58. Chapter 58

"There is no greater threat to the critics and cynics and fearmongers than those of us who are willing to fall because we have learned how to rise"

~Brené Brown, _Rising Strong_

When I go back to my own floor I find Derek waiting for me. He isn't as upset as before, but I can tell he's still mad. He gives me ice and orders me to hold it to my face, which I do. As much as it hurts, there's no lasting burn on my hand from the coffee, just an angry red mark that will likely fade within two weeks or so. Derek shakes his head and mutters under his breath, though I only catch the word "stupid" as he tends to my face.

I crawl into bed for the rest of the afternoon and into the evening. Finnick shows up just before dinner, food in hand which, as much as I hate to admit it, I'm grateful for. We only keep the Games on long enough to watch his female tribute earn herself a vicious stab wound to the leg; but she's still alive. From then on we keep the TV turned off. Derek shows up in my doorway just as the sun begins to dip in the sky. He looks between Finnick and I, clearly uncomfortable with his presence.

"What? Did you finally find the courage to come lecture me?" I spit.

"An avox brought this for you" he sighs, holding up a small, white paper, his eyes exhausted but steady.

"I don't wan-"

"Just take it."

I swallow heavily, staring at Derek with fire. Keeping my face relaxed, I rise to my feet and pull the paper from his hand. I don't even bother to open it. I rip it once, then again, and another time before throwing it to the floor at his feet. "They're gone. And I'm done."

I push the door closed in his face.

There's goosebumps over my arms but I don't reach for the blankets wrapped around my waist. Clouds rolled in sometime early in the morning, making everything darker and so much easier to think about. And yet, all that comes to mind is Snow's letter, in shreds on my bedroom floor. He has nothing against me. Nothing worse than what he's already taken.

My fingers reach towards my throat, where the small charms rest against the nape of my neck. I've lost _everything_ thanks to him.

"What?" a soft, tired voice asks beside me. Hands, gentle and revolting touch the skin of my shoulder. "You haven't blinked."

I move my eyes slowly towards the stranger beside me. "Nothing."

He shifts, letting go of my shoulder to sit up in the enormous bed. He doesn't say anything, just looks down at me with eyes that look deceptively concerned.

I feel myself sit up before I'm fully aware I'm doing it. My hair falls into my face as I pull my knees towards my chest. "It doesn't matter to you" I mumble, looking back towards the peaceful morning outside the grand windows.

"It might" he says with the inflection of a parent talking to a child.

"It doesn't." I close my eyes for a brief moment and I swear I can almost see their faces in my eyelids. "Nothing matters to you people."

He laughs, "you think?"

"Yes." He shrugs in response, turning his face away from me.

Gritting my teeth, I sit up, swinging my legs out of the bed. The movement is enough to catch the man's attention once again. He watches me get to my feet and I have to force myself not to try to cover myself. He sits up, cocking an eyebrow when I grab my dress.

"Going somewhere?" he asks.

I pause, considering him briefly. "I thought we were done here" I growl condescendingly, rolling my eyes.

He pauses but gives a small nod, lying back down. Holding back the urge to scream, I dress quickly, yearning to get as far away as possible.

As usual, a car is waiting for me to take me back to the training center. My eyes are hot with exhaustion and I nearly doze on the drive. But as soon as I get back, I'm jolted awake and burst from the car. On the ride up the elevator, I lean against the wall, arms crossed in front of me. _I need a shower_ ; I can't help but think.

Stepping off the elevator, I immediately hesitate. Three men sit lounged on the couches, the room reeking of liquor. Derek I know, Haymitch I recognize, but the third one I have to stare at for some time before I can place him. Porter I think his name is, an old Victor from 5. I've never seen him with Derek, or Haymitch, but based on the drunk smile on his face, he clearly fits right in.

"The princess returns" Haymitch screeches, making me roll my eyes. I flash him an obscene gesture, moving just close enough to snatch one of the small pastries off the plate in the center of the table. My hand is still red and tender from the burn.

"What are you louts doing here?" I grumble, rolling the pastry in my hand, decidedly not hungry.

"Nothing left upstairs" Derek groans, hoisting up the bottle of liquor in his hand like I couldn't see it before. The comment sets both Haymitch and Porter into fits of laughter.

I make a face, glancing down the dark hallway to my bedroom. "Of course not."

Haymitch lets out a loud burst of laughter, making me look at him. He looks straight back at me, his cheeks flushed pink. "Don't worry, sweetheart. We can share." He holds out his hand to me, offering it, but I just stare at it, like it might bite me.

When I shake my head, Haymitch drops his hand with a huff. Derek leans forward, having to grip the edge of the chair to stay steady. "Come on, Johanna" he stutters, "sit down. What harm will it do?"

I tighten my jaw, pressing my thumb against the pad of my hand. Once more, I look down the dark hall. I can almost see the shapes waiting for me, ready to attack me the moment my eyes close. But I'm tired. I shouldn't. I shake my head once, taking a step away but a hand snakes out grabbing my arm just below the elbow.

I jerk around, adrenalin spiking in my veins, but, of all people, it's Porter, the newcomer. I glare at him, feeling his fingers tight around me. "Come on" he says with an oddly friendly smile. He must be about the same age as Derek, but he looks younger than my mentor, and there's something in his eyes that, even when highly drunk, is friendly. "I haven't had the _honor_ of meeting the famous Johanna Mason."

Despite the exhaustion gnawing at me, I already know I'm going to give in. Pursing my lips, I search for an excuse, but I can't find one. Sighing, I rip my arm from his, shooting him a glare, but I don't move away. "What is it they say?" I ask, "if you can't beat them, join them?"

All three of them let out sounds of victory and I sink into the only unoccupied couch, accepting the glass Derek offers me. We don't talk much, mostly because the others don't take long to pass the point of any coherent conversation.

Only when my eyelids droop and I'm comfortably warm and have forgotten the feeling of needing to peel my skin of my bones, do I get to my feet. I'm not even half as drunk as the others, but I sway dangerously with the sudden movement.

Haymitch has his head leaned back against the couch, his eyes closed. The only one who shows any life is Derek, who's eyes twitch open. He doesn't say a word as I totter away, stumbling into my bed. Even with my head swimming I wonder what it was that drove him to Haymitch tonight. What kind of pain was he feeling? I know I had little choice, but I wish I had been here.


	59. Chapter 59

**I'm sorry that this is so short, but I have my licensure test for my RN on** **Thursday** **so I've been studying almost constantly. Next week will be better!**

"The loneliest moment in someone's life is when they are watching their whole world fall apart, and all they can do is stare blankly"

~F. Scott Fitzgerald, _The Great Gatsby_

I don't know what time it is when I wake up. My eyes stick together as I peer upwards where Finnick is sitting on the edge of the mattress. "You know you talk in your sleep?"

"Do I?" I ask, trying to blink to wake up. I stay curled under the blankets, the warmth and protection they offer feels amazing after the rendezvous last night. I want to sleep more; to spend the rest of the days until I can go home in bed.

"You don't want kids?"

I look up at Finnick, my body stiffening. I press my lips together and peer at him closely. "I don't" I say slowly. I can't help but wonder what in the hell I was talking about.

"I don't blame you but I don't know if I agree." Finnick kicks off his shoes, laying down on the side of the bed next to me, his arms folded behind his head.

I prop myself up on my arm to look at him. " _Really_?"

"Yeah" he says thoughtfully. His face is serious and hopeful, and I don't know what to say.

"Do what you want, I don't care" I respond fiercely, turning onto my other side and looking pointedly at the opposite wall. I know he's looking at me but I don't give any indication that I know. "Also, don't listen to me when I'm asleep "I say more aggressively than I know I mean to. I bite down on my lip, wondering what else could come out of my mouth.

"I'm not saying anything against you, Johanna."

I scowl at the wall. The outline of the curtains is reflected there, making me think that the sun must already be high in the sky. Behind me Finnick sighs. He was out all night, too, probably doing something much more valuable than me.

Letting out a sigh of my own, I turn back towards Finnick. I meet his eyes, starring back with firmness before rubbing my hand over my face. I'm not really _angry_ , just… tired.

"When did you get back?" I ask quietly.

"Hour or so ago" he says with a face.

I nod into the pillow, still watching him closely. It's not much in ways of an apology, but I reach out, grabbing his hand. I squeeze his fingers tightly in mine, hoping he can feel what I'm thinking more than expecting me to explain it.


	60. Chapter 60

"We're all going to die, all of what, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn't. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing"

~Charles Bukowski, _The Captain Is Out to Lunch and the Sailors Have Taken Over The Ship_

I poke mindlessly at the fire roaring in the fireplace. In the throes of a blizzard, no amount of fire seems to keep me warm enough. The Games have been over for five months and yet I still feel them like a punch in the gut.

Each time Derek or Adele comes over, bearing some invitation, food, or bit of news I couldn't care less about, I send them away. They try to take care of me but I don't let them.

I chose to stay alone.

I find it easier when I don't have to worry about anyone else. I don't have to pretend, or do what anyone else wants, or expects of me. I take to reading, losing my days in stories. Every two weeks or so I brave the walk to the market to buy more books and, when I finish them, I throw them out. It's not wasteful. It's a long known fact that people don't hesitate to dig through trash for scraps, and there's no better place to do that than Victor's Village. Each morning I check to make sure they're gone. And they always are.

Sure, I still see the others. I've found that if I give into Derek and Adele occasionally that they'll leave me alone more often. Blight hangs around most of the time too. I think he's just lonely, being in his huge house all alone. Personally I think the loneliness is preferable to the alternative.

Each Sunday without fail I find myself starring at the T.V. screen while Caesar Flickerman gives the weekly update. I torture myself with it, but I can never look away. I think some part of me is waiting for something to happen – to indicate that this rebellion Finnick speaks of is actually happening. But I never get much. Only that Jens Babic, the newest Victor from District 2 is, as usual for a Career, an immediate star in the Capitol.

A part of me tries to feel bad for the boy, but it doesn't last. Each time I see his smug, smiling face I swell with rage. He had no mercy, no ounce of sympathy as he slaughtered through the field of tributes. He's hardly human.

It takes another month of particularly harsh blizzards before the Victory Tour makes its way through District 7. It's almost a welcome change to the monotony of waking up, reading in front of the fire, then going back to bed. It makes me feel _something_ other than the aching emptiness in my chest. In some way, it invigorates me.

Jens didn't kill either of our tributes, but he's not greeted with any warmth. He doesn't seem remotely bothered at the lack of enthusiasm; instead he grins wildly and _bows_ as if he deserved it.

Derek, Blight, William, and I end up together at a reception for his win, being the good little Victors we're supposed to be. I hate having to be here. It feels like I'm watching the deadly prowling of a fox through a chicken coop. Slowly and inevitably Jens works his way through the room towards our small group, Shane, his mentor, working the crowd behind him.

Both of them look at me as they approach. I swallow bile but meet their challenging stare; I'm the only threat here and they know it. Besides, after the confrontation with Enobaria, Shane's been giving me angry glares whenever we're within a dozen feet of each other, which isn't often. With those two as influences I'm sure Jens has no desire to make friends. "No dress, Johanna?" he purrs, his eyes and voice malicious.

I purse my lips, unsure of what he's trying. I raise my eyebrows, resisting the urge to look down to see what I'm wearing and match the ferocity in his eyes with my own. "Not an ounce of chivalry in you, is there?" I gripe.

Jens sighs, finally looking to my companions before turning his attention back to me. "I can be plenty chivalrous if that's what you're into" he purrs, taking a small step closer to me, not enough that he's in my face, but enough that I can easily understand the insinuation.

My eyes catch Derek's and I can see the nearly invisible anger there. _Always on my side_. My voice is curt "I can do better. I've _done_ better."

Derek isn't the one I expect to speak up, so it catches me by surprise when it's his voice I hear instead of Jens'. "Is this what you do in District 2?" he says directly to Shane, but he looks over at Jens occasionally. "You act like this?" he waves at Jens "I've never thought highly of you, but I guess I didn't realize how bad it's been." Derek looks pointedly at Shane, swallowing heavily. "You can leave now."

Shane has an angry look on his face but he keeps quiet. Jens turns towards Derek, his face holding less of a smile than before. He's trying to hide it, but I can see the hesitation in his features. "You're a sad, angry old man, I get it. But it's not my fault that you live in this dump. And it's really not my fault you're stuck here with her," he looks at me. "But believe whatever you'd like" he bores holes into Derek.

No one says a word as they walk away. I'm ready to strangle him or take one of the wine glasses and shove shards of it through his neck, but both Derek and Blight step closer to me, Derek even placing his hand on my shoulder.

I pull away from them, but instead of going towards the assholes from 2, I stride towards the wide doors, ready to push out into the night. But I barely wrap my fingers around the handle when the two Peacekeepers guarding the exit stop me. I sneer and push through them into the snow.

They follow me immediately, moving in front of me. "This isn't an exit" one of them says to me, arm shooting out to block me from going much further. We're standing in a thin walkway, in which a Peacekeeper now stands blocking the path to the stairs to the ground below.

I glare at him, fury in my face. "Get out of my way" I snap, going to move around him but he steps in front of me.

"You're going to have to go back inside" he responds coolly.

I clench my fists tightly at my sides. " _Move_."

He doesn't. I'm aware of the other Peacekeeper shifting behind me and I shoot him a deadly glare. If they want a fight they'll sure as hell get one. Clenching my jaw, I glance back through the door to the party going on inside. Briefly I can see Shane and Jens speaking with the mayor, laughing loudly. I'd rather get put on the whipping stand than go back in there.

Snorting, I push past the Peacekeeper hard enough to make him take a step back. His hand grabbing my upper arm surprises me so much so that I let out a small yelp and jerk to a halt. Shaking off the momentary fear, I whirl around to face the man and rip my arm from his grip.

" _Don't touch me_ " I hiss. If it weren't for his form blocking my way, I would storm off. I have no love for Peacekeepers, and definitely no patience for them.

"You need to go back inside. _Now_ " the Peacekeeper repeats, though I can hear the uncertainty in his voice. Briefly, he glances to his companion, seeking validation.

I roll my eyes with a vicious sneer. "No" I say firmly "I'm leaving. _Now_ " I add, mockingly.

But the man doesn't move. I raise an eyebrow at him, cocking my head to the side. "What are you going to do, huh? Hit me? Beat me? Whip me in the square? _Please_. Just get out of my way."

I shove the Peacekeeper and in his surprise he stumbles back. I force myself to keep looking forward, my feet moving, praying neither of them come to punish me for the act. All of my muscles are tensed as the snow crunches beneath my feet, waiting for the sound of pursuit. But it doesn't come.

My heart is hammering in my chest as I walk through the bitter dark back to the dimly lit Village, at least three miles away.

Snow swirls wildly around me, creating silhouettes that walk beside me all the way up the frozen path. No other Peacekeeper will dare stop me. My eyes burn through the snow, cutting each figure, snow or flesh, apart with a single look.


	61. Chapter 61

"Many that live deserve death. And some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be too eager to deal out death in judgment. For even the very wise cannot see all ends"

~J.R.R. Tolkien, _The Fellowship of the Ring_

I dress slowly, taking my time to pull on the long black jeans and pale shirt. I stand in front of the mirror, mindlessly brushing my fingers through my hair until it looks somewhat presentable.

Derek is dressed similarly when I begrudgingly close my front door behind me. He's sitting with Adele on the concrete front steps of their own home across the dirt path. They don't notice me at first. Adele holds Derek's hands in hers, her lips moving softly as she speaks to him. I can't hear what she says but it looks comforting. He watches her so intently that it makes me hesitate; he has so few moments with her that I don't want to interrupt.

But inevitably he looks up and sees me standing there. I nod and cross the path towards them. I can't help but notice how Adele watches him as he rises to his feet, her face passionate and concentrated on her husband.

Derek greets me kindly but I can tell he's stressed. "I didn't hear you-"

"It's fine" I say curtly, tucking my fingers into the belt loops of my jeans.

"I tried to find you last night" he says like a disappointed parent. "Where were you?"

"Does it matter?" I ask with a shrug. "We should go."

I turn and stride off towards the village square. Derek catches up to me before I even make it through the gates. I chew on the inside of my cheek as we walk in tense silence. I knew I wouldn't sleep, and I knew that even if I did, it would be riddled with nightmares. So, instead, I took a late night walk to the graveyard. I couldn't bring myself to visit the tribute graveyard, as much as I wanted to. I spent hours sitting in the dirt over my parent's, and sibling's graves. I knew no one would see me and no one would bother me, so for just one night, I let myself pretend that they were alive.

I watch the crowd as Derek and I take our spots on stage. It's the same speeches, anthem, and treaty of treason before Karina finally plucks the microphone from the mayor to "get to the best part!" I watch each face grow in tension as she dips her hands into the bowl, pulling out a thin piece of paper and bringing it back to center stage.

"Marta Kretz!" she shouts. I hear the almost universal breath of relief as realization spreads that the faces below are safe. All except one.

She emerges from the row of seventeen year olds. Light blond hair spills out of her point tail around her face. Despite her age, she's tiny – no taller than I am. She keeps her face pressed into a firm line, but I see the redness spreading down her cheeks as she approaches.

The boy is named Oliver Mikkelson. He has more meat on him than most others, but he doesn't have the look of a killer. Or a Victor. If I had to bet, I wouldn't expect him to make it out of the bloodbath.

Then, as suddenly as it started, Karina ushers the two new tributes into the metal doors to say their goodbyes. I follow Derek silently, waiting with him on the couches until Karina reappears to bring us to the car. No one but her says much of anything during the drive.

Derek sighs tiredly as we roll up to the station, cameras already tracking our movements. "I need a drink" he mutters.

"You shouldn't drink so much" I say flatly, though from the way he glares at me I know he heard the joke.

"I'll stop when you do" he smiles subtly.

" _Really_?"

He grimaces when the car begins to slow in front of the station. "Probably not." I laugh crudely in response.

I get out of the car, standing to the side to wait for Marta to shyly get out after me. Karina waves her hands at us, herding us up the platform. "Well you don't need to worry" I say to Derek, "I don't plan on stopping either."

True to his word, Derek goes straight for the booze when we enter, though I refuse his offer to pour me some. I sink into a chair by the window, curling my feet under me while Karina tells the tributes to sit and _make themselves at home_.

Derek leads them to the couch across from me. I can't help but stare at them as they respond to Derek. They respect him, more than they respect me. They're terrified but they listen to him and they trust him.

Marta and Oliver look around our small group, clearly uncomfortable with the company. I can't help but notice how Marta keeps glancing at me, her eyes cautious. I roll my eyes, looking over at her. "Don't worry" I say "I have no intention of killing you." She blushes and looks down at her hands. I earn a curt glare from Derek and cluck from Karina, but I shrug it off.

I don't say a single word while Derek coaxes them to speak. It's all the same: trees, axes, family, fear, blah, blah, blah. These kids aren't special and they aren't going to come out alive. I listen to it all but there's nothing for me to say. Even throughout dinner I sit quietly. My nighttime excursion is finally catching up to me and I feel my eyes getting heavy.

I follow slowly to the large, rounded leather couch to watch the reapings mostly out of obligation than desire. There's nothing special at all. Two tall, blonde, sexy tributes volunteer from 1. I swear everyone from there must look identical. Even if I wanted to I don't think I could tell these two apart from any other District 1 Victor I've met.

District 2 is much the same, though I suppose the girl is shorter than normal, but I know just from the look of her that she's a Career and she takes it seriously. If I had to guess, I'd pick one of them as this year's Victor.

District 3 passes without anything other than two young tributes. District 4 is the same as 1 and 2, athletic, attractive and capable. 5 and 6 pass uninterestingly, and so does our own, though I notice how both Marta and Oliver have to look away when they appear on screen. I can't judge them for it – I had to do the same. 8, 9, and 10 are boring, bordering on forgettable. When District 11 appears and a twelve-year-old girl, small and innocent is called, even Karina sighs in sorrow. I glare at her, challenging her to say anything about how unfair it is a girl that age be chosen. It's not fair for anyone at _any_ age to be chosen. But Karina knows better and choses to hold her tongue.

I raise my eyebrows when the boy gets called. He's enormous to say the least. Anyone with the means of being so strong and healthy in a District as poor as 11 has to be a fighter. He could give the Careers a run for their money. Silently I hope he'll be the Victor. At least he has a chance. I'll root for any tribute that isn't a Career, honestly.

District 12 reaps another twelve-year-old. I scoff loudly, momentarily catching glances from the others as I do so. We all watch with disgust and sorrow as the young, blonde girl begins the trek to the stage. I'm all but ready to get up and go to bed when I hear Karina suck in her breath. There's a sudden screaming on the T.V. as a girl pushes free from the ropes. "I volunteer!" she shrieks.

Slowly I find myself sitting up. No one volunteers in the outlying Districts. _Ever_. Occasionally there will be one in 5 or 8, and once even in 10, but never has anything come out of 12. Hence why Haymitch is the only one to go to and from the Capitol each year. No one on screen seems sure what to do, least of all the escort, but eventually the Peacekeepers intervene to pull the young girl away as her place is taken. And as the girl is marched onto the stage I notice that not a soul in the audience begins the round of applause that's expected. The escort seems confused as the crowd remains daftly silent, each one pressing their fingers to their lips and extending them to girl. Katniss Everdeen, they call her.

I feel the smile on my face as the escort tries to ignore the show of rebellion by calling the boy's name. It's not as dramatic, but still, no one claps.

I look over at Derek, who appears just as shocked. I laugh, both amazed and thrilled at the display. "Holy shit." Karina looks over at me, though I can see the surprise and doubt on her face, too.

Now _that's_ what I've been waiting for on the news programs. _Holy shit_ doesn't even begin to cover it.

I can't stop thinking about the girl. Katniss Everdeen. Long after Karina and tributes haven gone to bed and I'm still sitting awake, with the silent company of Derek, replaying her volunteering and silent salute of her district in my head.

Derek makes a thoughtful sound, pulling my attention towards him. "I still can't believe what that girl did."

"No?" I ask, taking the opportunity to pull the mostly full bottle of whiskey away from him and give myself a glass. So, he was thinking about her too. I can't help but wonder what he makes of it.

He nods slowly, staring blankly at the ground in front of him before seemingly snapping back to reality. "Volunteers are one thing but… District 12? You've seen them, they rarely make it past the bloodbath. So for her to _choose_ this, it's… it's incredible."

He pauses again, his eyes slightly squinted as if he's searching for a better word. I hold the glass at my lips, waiting a moment before taking a long drink. "They're always weak. There's no reason for her to be any different" I say, though I don't believe my own words. "She might be brave but she's an idiot."

"Maybe" Derek shrugs, taking an equally long drink. "I killed the tributes from 12. The boy that year was the first strong contender they'd had in years. And I killed him" he frowns into his drink. "Of course I couldn't know that Haymitch would win the next year, but I remember laying in the hospital bed and thinking that I just stole away that boy's chance _and_ his district's chance. I didn't know if they'd ever have another one."

I watch him closely, surprised to hear him divulging so much information. "Do you think they do?" I ask "have another chance?"

"It's hard to tell" he makes a face at the blank T.V. screen. "All I know is that she isn't weak. Not just anyone could elicit that kind of reaction."

"What do you mean?" I ask, taking a small sip.

"She won't go down easy."

"Do any of them?" I snap "Just because you don't fight doesn't mean you don't care."

"It's just a thought" he sighs, leaning his head back against the chair. "Maybe this girl will get 12 the relief they need. God knows they need it."

The way he's speaking is unusual. He sounds both angry and sad, and somewhere in all of it he's just exhausted. But I can see the wonder in his eyes as he stares up at the ceiling. He's having the same thoughts I am, I'm sure of it. This girl got her district, live in front of the whole Capitol, to show defiance and unity. For just a moment, they followed the girl instead of the Peacekeepers.

"God has nothing to do with it," I mutter. I down the last of my drink and silently I wish well to Katniss Everdeen, wherever she may be on her way to the Capitol.


	62. Chapter 62

"Let me tell you this: if you meet a loner, no matter what they tell you, it's not because they enjoy solitude. It's because they have tried to blend into the world before and people continue to disappoint them"

~ _My Sister's Keeper_

The morning peaks in, waking me long before I have the energy or desire to get up. My head aches in response to the combination of the sun, alcohol, and torture of this damned train.

My thoughts immediately return to the Games. My tributes already have a death sentence, which means suffering through the next few days with them before trying to erase them altogether. Almost as soon as I think of them I remember Katniss. Even remembering her scene raises goosebumps on my arms. Hopefully Haymitch is sober enough to realize the chance he has.

I pull myself out of bed, my stomach violently complaining at the sudden movement. I sway on my feet for a moment before pushing through the door and shuffling to get coffee. It's hot, almost painfully so, but it helps wake me up.

I take a few minutes before getting in the shower and digging out clean clothes. Part of what I think is so captivating about it all is that she volunteered for her sister. It's less strange to see a child get taken to die because their older siblings won't take their place than to see a volunteer. That kind of devotion is rare. I tell myself that's what I would have done for Lily, but I guess I'll never have to know for certain. Sibling loyalty only goes so far.

But if I could trade places with her _now_ , I would. My life for hers wouldn't take a second of thought. But I wasn't given a choice, which I envy. It's strange, envying a girl who likely gave up her life, and yet here I am.

I get dressed in plain jeans and a black shirt, which I'm sure Lucille will comment on later. I'm leaving my room just in time to catch Marta and Oliver talking quietly in the hall between their rooms.

For a brief moment they don't notice me. They're both tense – I can feel the waves of anxiety rippling off them as they talk. I watch curiously, wondering what they could have to talk about. None of the tributes ever seem to want to interact with each other much, unless they're planning on creating an alliance that is. Kane all but hated me, even tried to kill me once the Games started.

Oliver notices me first and I see the flash of surprise, followed but the uncomfortable shifting of getting caught. "Breakfast is this way" I say sharply, turning abruptly down the hall.

By the time I make it to the table, both Derek and Karina are already seated and waiting. Oliver and Marta follow me silently, each taking their places without looking at me. Whether it's because they're afraid of me or I caught them doing something, I don't know.

Karina seems to tune out the conversation as soon as Derek directs it towards the tributes. Marta is seventeen and has spent the last two years in the Community Center with her sister after her mother died in a logging accident. It's a story I know all too well. She's been in the paper mills ever since, so she doesn't even work with the axes. Clearly it's not as valuable of a skill as we're given credit for, proven by our sparsely populated Victor's Village.

Oliver comes from an enormous family and one of the few farms in the district. He was almost guaranteed to get reaped with the amount of slips in the pool. He's more optimistic than most tributes, which some part of me wants to crush. Apparently he's also good with an axe. No shit.

It's almost a relief when we begin to pull into the Capitol because it means that we can stop talking about their lives. They're going to die anyway; I don't see why I should be subjected to their entire life stories before they do. Besides, the less I know, the less I have to remember when they're dead.

When we get off the train there's the normal press circus waiting to get the first look at the tributes in person. I'm sure it's rather anticlimactic.

The car ride is long – at least it feels like it. Karina chatters enthusiastically with the tributes, actually getting Oliver to perk up a little. I keep my hand held against my temples, trying to rub away the headache living there. "I swear to God if you don't shut up I'm going to push you out of the moving car" I hiss to no one in particular.

They both fall silent. Oliver goes red in the face and looks down at his hand. I don't feel bad – it's not like I'm doing anything worse to him than Snow.

We hand the tributes over to the prep teams and start the walk back to the elevators. Derek sighs heavily, "is it too early to start drinking?"

I smile slightly, pretending not to notice the stares of a group of flamboyantly dressed individuals walking the opposite way down the hall. "Does it matter? Drink yourself dead for all I care."

I run my fingers through my hair, winching as I catch on a tight knot. Derek punches his fist into the elevator buttons to call an elevator down. He laughs at me, sounding more genuine than normal. I'm glad he gets my sense of humor. "You shouldn't joke like that" I turn to see Karina starring at us with pursed lips. I hadn't even realized she was still with us.

"Why not?" I hiss. "It's not your problem."

She shrinks at having me focus my attention on her. "Johanna" she says hesitantly after a moment "I'm not your enemy." She presses her lips together, trying to appear firmer than I know she is.

I narrow my eyes at her, loading them with as much venom as I can muster. "Yes. You are. You don't care about me. You've never cared about me. If I had died three years ago you wouldn't even remember me. You just want the fame that comes with my name. You _are_ my enemy, and if I thought it worth my time, I'd slit your throat too."

Her face pales and she immediately loses all confidence. "Walk away" I demand.

I think she's on the verge of tears as she practically runs in the opposite direction. I stare after her, not caring that the elevator has arrived and is waiting. It's the sound of laughing that pulls my attention away from her. "You haven't changed at all, have you?"

I turn to see Finnick, approaching slowly with Brenda and an older woman trailing after him. Mags I remember after a moment. "Why should I?" I ask, glancing at the old woman.

"You shouldn't."

"I won't" I spit back, my skin still crawling with irritation.

"Hey" he raises his hands up in mock surrender, " _I'm not your enemy_." So he was here the whole time apparently. Fantastic.

"Finnick I swear to God" I groan, turning back towards the elevator. The doors have since given up on us and I push the button to call it back.

"Mags" I murmur in acknowledgment. I feel obligated to at least greet her, knowing her and Finnick's close relationship. She smiles at me and I peer at her, eyebrows raised. I nod at her once and she gives me yet another sickeningly kind smile. "Let's take a walk" he adds, giving me a look that's anything but innocent.

"Sure" I say nonchalantly, glancing between Derek, Brenda and Mags. They all look at the elevator, clearly listening but pretending to be disinterested. I stop myself from rolling my eyes and turn away from them to face Finnick.

He nods his head for me to follow and I do. Mostly we just weave through the hallways in silence until we come to a different set of elevators. Obviously he wants to talk about something that can't be overheard, but this seems a little ridiculous. My head still hurts and all I want is to sit down in the dark, not wander through Capitol hallways.

I lean against the elevator wall, staring at him intently. "This better not be a _long walk_ " I mutter, earning one of his wide smiles. As much as I try to be annoyed, I can't help but smile back.

We go all the way to the roof. The wind isn't strong enough to be uncomfortable, but my hair clings to my face. I follow slowly until Finnick stops on the far side, leaning against the brick siding to some locked maintenance room.

"Did you have a good winter?" I ask sarcastically, electing to sit against the wall instead of stand.

"Always do" he shrugs, sitting beside me, close enough that our arms touch. "What about you?"

"I'm sure it would've bored you."

"Hopefully."

I look at him, raising my eyebrows questioningly at the tone in his voice. I know what he's hinting at. A few weeks before the Victory tour one of the older tributes in District 4 decided to pick a fight with the Peacekeepers. He earned himself a public flogging for it, as well as the beating the Peacekeepers gave him. It was aired live as well as replayed for the next two weeks every time I turned on the T.V.

"Jack can still hardly walk" Finnick sighs. "He's a good guy, didn't do anything other than try to buy some bread for a homeless girl. Peacekeepers decided to make up a rule saying that was against the law but he didn't care" he makes a pained face. "He didn't come when Snow called, so they punished him."

"He's stupid" I sigh, looking away from him to the open sky.

I lean my head against the wall, thinking over Finnick's words. Snow either knows that beating and floggings won't get him anywhere with me or I haven't pissed him off enough yet to warrant it. I almost welcome him to try. "You have a new baby?" Finnick cuts in.

"William's granddaughter" I say distractedly.

The baby was born a few weeks ago. His family was all over the Village celebrating. Derek and Adele dragged me along once to see the little boy once he was born, but that was all I needed. William was thrilled, of course, but I could see the way his face shriveled every time he looked at the infant. I can imagine what he sees when looking at him – a young boy being sent to the slaughter because of his grandfather.

We talk meaninglessly for a while; nothing incriminating, and nothing warranting sitting up on the roof. I'd be more annoyed if the sun didn't feel so good over my legs. I'm half ready to fall asleep when I hear the elevator doors opening. I jerk forward but Finnick grabs my arm. He looks relaxed but I stay on edge until I see Beetee and Wiress turning the corner.

"You invited nuts and volts?" I hiss at him.

Finnick smirks and rolls his eyes. "Don't be a bitch" he says, amused.

He rises to his feet, greeting the District 3 geniuses warmly. I'm content to stay sitting in the sun but Finnick pulls me to my feet – gently albeit unwanted. "I told you she wouldn't be a problem" Finnick laughs, hitting me lightly with his elbow. I shoot him a glare and roll my eyes.

Beetee evaluates me over his glasses. "You had something you wanted to talk about" Finnick prods.

"Of course. Our tributes this year are very small, very young, and I've been offered a fair sum from a sponsor provided I can give him something in return" he pauses, looking at me. I press my lips together, knowing exactly where he's going. "It just so happens that this Mr. Andersen is highly involved in the construction of the underground sewer systems beneath the Capitol. He does much of his work in his home office and is very deserving of a break."

Finnick makes a noise, "you want to trade Johanna for useless sponsor money?"

"Of course not. I would like Ms. Johanna to _help_ a friend." Beetee reaches up and readjusts his glasses. "Wiress and I would be incredibly grateful for your assistance."

"You think we're friends?" I ask with a scoff. I know what he isn't explicitly saying, and while I know I'll comply, it makes my stomach tighten just having this conversation.

"Not in the traditional sense, no. But we have a specific… comradery, don't you think?"

I cross my arms, starring off the edge of the roof in thought. If there's any hope of ousting Snow then of course I want to help, but why does it always involve me losing my clothes? Chewing on my cheek, I think of all the ways I could back out, refuse to do it and spend the night in bed, _alone_.

"It would mean more than you know" Beetee finishes, looking at me directly.

"Fucking hell" I moan and Finnick looks over at me.

Wiress snaps her head up, catching my attention for the first time. Her eyes are wide and shine in a way that makes me uncomfortable; there's definitely something off about her. "I believe it's a rather simple question we're asking. Will you help us or not?"

My jaw tightens as I look back between the two of them. He's right, it's simple, but why is it so hard for me to agree to it? I'm in a perfect position, a perfect candidate – young, not too ugly, famous, and accessible. My popularity is my protection.

Everyone wants me and no one expects me.

"Jo?" Finnick asks, "you okay?"

"Yeah" I murmur, facing Beetee again. "I'll help you. But you owe me."

My throat feels like it's constricting, like something's blocking the air but it just keeps tightening. A sweat breaks out on the back of my neck as I remember the night, now three years ago, when I was slapped, thrown against the wall and raped with enormous hands wrapped around my throat. That's what made me snap – and that's what killed my family. Thinking back now, I don't think he was going to kill me, but in the moment, so fresh out of the arena… I panicked, and I paid the price for it.

I was scared, and I didn't have a choice.

Finnick ends the conversation, either seeing the cold sweat on my forehead or having the common sense not to linger. Beetee gives the details in a hurried conversation with Finnick while I lean against the wall, trying not to start crying, or screaming. It's relatively simple, get pictures of some maps that should be kept in a desk. The only caveat is that in order to get into his house without breaking in, means I have to have sex with him. Apparently he's been asking about me for a while. I can do it, but it makes my skin crawl.

Nuts and Volts leave back down the elevator and I let myself lean back against the brick. I'm suddenly exhausted and my headache has tripled in intensity. I clench my eyes shut, just for a moment, before striking out for the elevator. Tonight's going to be longer than I expected.

"Can I do something?" Finnick asks gently. He feels bad, but he has the better sense than to say something like _I'm sorry_.

I shake my head, my eyes watching the digital numbers as they rise "Nope."

We lounge on his floor for the rest of the afternoon, drinking just enough to feel fuzzy, but not enough to get drunk. His escort reminds us casually of the time when the sun begins to set in an attempt to tell us to get down to our tributes. I give the woman a vicious glare but get to my feet anyway.

We part once we reach the enormous room of chariots. I stay perfectly silent as Derek talks to Marta and Oliver, my eyes dancing around the room as he coaches them. Five chariots down I catch sight of the District 12 martyr, her back facing me as her stylist makes his final alterations. What catches my eye is Haymitch. He's clean shaven, attentive, and doesn't have the glossy shine of alcoholism in his eyes. He's _sober_. It's enough to bring a surprised smirk to my lips, but Derek snaps me out of it when the tributes are loading up and the doors pull open.

I keep my arms crossed over my chest as I watch from our hidden alcove. My tributes are as good as ignored. _Every_ tribute is when flames erupt out of the District 12 chariot. Even Derek gives a breath of surprise at the sight. It drives the crowd mad, erupting into screams louder than I thought possible.


	63. Chapter 63

"Nothing captures human interest more than human tragedy"

~ _Angels & Demons_

Every eye watches the flaming tributes as they do their rounds. Finnick laughs one quick, shocked sound. I glance over at him, watching with a smile on his face like only he would do. Only when the chariots turn ever so slightly do I see that not only are they on fire, _they're holding hands_.

They're nothing we've ever seen before.

I look at the people around me – the Victors, escorts, and stylists. All of them are watching intently with a range of emotions on their faces. Some are confused, some angry, but the vast majority are in awe of the blazing tributes from District 12. That sign of unity is rebellious in nature, but no one can keep from watching.

When the chariots come to a stop in front of Snow, I find myself watching his face. There's always a darkness there, always a black pit in his soulless eyes, but now he has the smallest of smiles on his face. I wonder if he'll kill them for that. Even though they'll likely die anyway, he still has to make a point.

I look over at Derek, then at Finnick. They share almost the same expression, though Finnick still has a smile plastered to his face while Derek's mouth is in a hard line. "What are you smiling about?" I ask him quietly.

He shrugs and shakes his head nonchalantly "I don't know Jo; it just feels right."

He looks at me briefly, before turning back to the parade. He's entertained by it all. I guess we have to get it from somewhere, but something about them makes my stomach clench.

Are they allies? Did they know each other before they were reaped, hence the hand holding? Or is Haymitch actually coaching them towards something? He _was_ sober earlier, so maybe he's realized the value in the tributes this year. Or maybe this is their way of giving a final _screw you_ to Snow before they die.

I turn to leave with Derek, staying staunchly silent as Oliver and Marta get down from the chariot. Even they keep turning to look at 12 as we walk to the elevator. Back on our floor, they hesitate, unsure of what to do with themselves.

Oliver is the one to speak first. "Are they strong this year?" he asks, his voice shaky but clearly he's trying to sound firm.

I turn my attention to him, starring into his face, still round like a baby's. He'll be dead in a few days. Marta, too, turns towards Derek and I, curious to hear the answer. Does she actually think she has a chance? There's hope in her face, and it's extremely misplaced. One look and I know that they're hoping we'll say no, it was all decoration from their stylist and mentor, but we can't say that, because it isn't true.

I know what Derek wants to say; he'd tell them that it doesn't matter, that only _their_ strength is important. But I won't lie like that. "They're stronger than you" I say "you're not going to make it out of the arena."

I give them each a pointed look before pushing past them to my room. I begrudgingly change my clothes. There's still something for me to do tonight, and even the thought makes me want to scream. But, nonetheless, I pull on a short dress and stalk back out to the elevator. Derek and Karina watch me silently, but I don't make eye contact. Derek will know, but she won't, and I'm not telling.

As planned, a car is waiting for me outside the Training Center. The whole ride I keep my fingers wrapped tightly around the innocuous silver bracelet. If anyone ever found out what this was I'd surely be tortured and killed; Nuts, Volts, and Finnick too.

When I get out of the car, there's an avox waiting for me to take me inside. Even by Capitol standards, this man is rich. I follow the avox up marble steps to a grand door, where I'm led into a foyer twice as big as the house I grew up in. I'm staring up at the crystal chandelier hanging above me when I hear footsteps echoing on the floor.

I turn to find a man approaching. He's dressed surprisingly plainly for a Capitol man; a solid black, button up shirt with the collar made out of lace, accompanied by matching black pants. There's a small smile on his face and his hands are clasped behind his back.

"Ms. Johanna Mason" he sighs, stopping a few feet in front of me. I keep my chin up, forcing myself to stare the man in the eye "it's an honor to meet you." He takes my hand, bringing it to his lips. I bite into my lip, making a face at the gesture. "Can I get you anything?"

I furrow my eyebrows at the man, peering at him intently. "A drink" I say roughly. Ideally, the plan is to just get him drunk, let him screw me, then get the pictures and leave. No point in wasting time.

He laughs lightly but nods his head. Andersen, Beetee said his name was, offers me his arm but I stare at him with daggers and he drops it, shrugging. We walk down a long hall until we reach what looks like a den, one wall completely decorated with glasses and bottles. I stay quiet as he pulls down two glasses, filling them each with a dark liquid I can't identify. The bottle is entirely glass aside from a golden harp painted on one side. I take the glass from him.

To my relief, he takes a long drink himself. It's stupidly easy to keep him distracted – he loves talking about himself. While he talks, I keep pressing drinks on him. It takes over an hour before he finally starts inching closer to me, clearly ready to start with the real event. But before he gets his hands on me, I hold my hand up.

"Aren't you going to give me a tour?" I ask innocently, once again topping off his glass.

He smiles at me, downing the glass in one drink. I fight to keep from smiling. Already his words come out slowly and his feet seem wobbly. Still, he agrees. I tense when he throws his arm around my shoulder, pulling me back into the marble hallway.

The house is enormous, and I almost immediately lose my way. He points out bedrooms, a library, another den, but the only room I care about is his study, the place where Nuts claimed I'd find the information I need. We get to it eventually, but he doesn't spend as much time as I want talking about it. I make a point of remembering the pathway from the room down the next few halls, until his hand drops from my shoulders down to waist.

Immediately all my muscles tense against the touch, but I don't pull away. He reaches past me, pushing open the door beside us. The bedroom inside puts the Tribute Center to shame with its luxuriousness. I stare at the bed, feeling my legs getting ready to buckle beneath me. "I think you can figure out what this room is" his voice purrs into my ear.

His fingertips press into the skin of my hip through my dress, making me even more tense. It doesn't bother him though, because he uses his free hand to wrap into my hair and pull me against him. He kisses me hungrily, his mouth reeking with the scent of liquor. He doesn't wait to push me into the room and take me to the bed. I feel the quivers of resistance flow through me and I have to force myself to swallow them down. The faster I get this done, the sooner I can leave.

Andersen's drunk hands are clumsy as he pulls at my clothes and hair. I clamp my eyes shut for just a moment, forcing myself to breath a few breaths. I swallow down the hate and fear and force myself to feel absolutely nothing at all.

I reach back, batting away the groping hands to reach the zipper myself. I'll speed this along instead of standing here getting groped for hours. Andersen smiles against my mouth, his hands roughly twisting into my hair. I swallow back the pain and let my dress slip off my shoulders to the floor.

I hardly feel it as he pushes me down onto the bed, climbing on top of me as he does so. He runs his hands up my torso, stopping over my breasts to throw my bra to the floor. My hands tremble as I reach up to undo the buttons on his shirt. I can feel the energy flooding out of me with each passing second, threatening to overtake me and leave my lying here utterly complacent.

Anderson pulls off me for a moment, pulling his shirt off as well. He moves over me, pulling his pants free. I brace myself for his weight once again, but he remains hovering over me, his eyes consuming.

"I have been hoping for this for a long time, Johanna" he says, slurring my name. I press my lips together, knowing that opening my mouth would be the end of my composure.

He smiles, wide enough to raise a sob in my throat. On his knees, he presses one of his legs between mine, forcing them apart. My heart is pounding in my chest, waiting for the moment that he stops playing with me.

He leans back over me, his mouth lingering over my collarbone and neck. With one arm to support himself, he uses the other to run down my side, eventually stopping at my thigh to pull my leg up around his hips, giving him unrestricted access.

I can't stop from grimacing when he presses himself into me. It takes all of my effort to stay still and not run. He's so drunk that he hardly notices me, other than the fact that he's currently on top of me. My jaw is clenched tight and my heart hammers wildly in my chest, but I stay still and quiet until, and after what feels like an eternity, he lets out a long, reeking breath in my face, and rolls off of me. I lie frozen, starring at the dark ceiling as he gets comfortable. With his back to me, I can't tell if his eyes are open or not. Instead, I wait. I wait for well over an hour until his breaths become slow and he begins to snore softly.

Cautiously, I sit up. I grimace as I glance down at his face, peacefully asleep and unbothered. Climbing out of the bed is difficult, as I try to move as little as possible and make no sound to wake him. Eventually, I get to my feet. I walk on the balls of my feet to grab my clothes and silently slip out of the room. My heart is beating so fast that I swear he must be able to hear it. As much as I want to lean against the wall and scream my throat raw, I pull my clothes back on and straighten my spine.

Luckily his bedroom is close to his office and I can easily retrace my steps to the familiar oak door. As soon as I'm inside I close the door behind me, pushing the lock for good measure. Sweat beads on my skin as I approach the massive desk in the center of the room and begin riffling through the drawers. If he, or anyone else catches me, I'm worse than dead.

In the bottom drawer I find a thick folder spilling with papers. Immediately I know it's what I'm looking for. I don't waste any time capturing pictures of the elaborate maps. It's _all_ the underground tunnels, I realize after a few minutes; the trains, sewers, and maintenance tunnels are all mapped out, weaving under the Capitol like a maze. All around them are small, handwritten notes. I can only imagine the value these could have. My fingers itch to grab more files, to read everything, but I know that it's too risky. If they wanted more, they would have said so.

I carefully replace the files, doing my best to leave them exactly as I found them. A few minutes of wandering the halls and I find the front door. It's still before dawn when I get to my own bed, and fall asleep with the bracelet securely around my wrist.


	64. Chapter 64

"We were the people who were not in the papers. We lived in the blank white spaced at the edges of print. It gave us more freedom. We lived in the gaps between the stories"

~Margaret Atwood, _The Handmaid's Tale_

I'm awake before the tributes; the first time I've ever beaten them to the table. I slept for about two hours before I woke up to throat ripping screams. My whole body shook as I laid in bed, telling myself that it was just a dream. Even when I managed to calm down, I knew I wouldn't go back to sleep, so instead I sat at the dining table with my head held in my hands and a cup of coffee steaming against my face.

Oliver and Marta come out to eat at the same time, both dressed in the black training outfits. Marta's eyes are puffy and bags circle her eyes. "Your face is still red" I murmur. Her eyes widen and a hand goes to her face. "Don't let them see you cry" I say with a dry laugh as I pick up my coffee.

"Why do you have a hickey?" Oliver asks, looking surprisingly defiant.

The question takes me by surprise. Tributes usually aren't so direct. "I think you can guess" I spit back. _Of fucking course he gave me a hickey_. I couldn't just leave and pretend it never happened, no, he had to go ahead to leave the evidence.

"Derek said you were talking to sponsors" Oliver says.

"Did he?" I ask, setting my coffee down with a slight tremble in my hand.

"Yeah" Oliver nods, Marta agrees silently, still wiping at her eyes. "But why help us when you can go out and get laid, right?" he asks, his voice matching mine in acidity.

I slam my hand against the table, rising to my feet so I loom over the both of them. Marta lets out a gasp at my sudden movement. "You little shit" I growl "You have no _idea_ what you're talking about."

"Johanna" Derek says harshly, walking in long strides from the hall towards the table.

I hold my hand up at him. "No, he doesn't get to say that. You think I was out having _fun_? Having sex and drinking for the fun of it?" I half shriek at Oliver, who is shrinking down in his chair. "Let me break it down for you, kiddo. I survived my Games but that does _not_ mean I won. There's a certain amount of work invested in me, and I'm expected to pay that back. If that means I get sold off to a Capitol snob for the night to be his personal whore, then that's what happens. I don't get the luxury of sitting my room and crying" I glare at Marta. "No, I have to live with what I did and spend every night getting fucked whether I like it or not." I pause looking between the two of them, feeling my hands tremble with rage. "Most nights I wish I were dead. If you have the audacity to question me, then I hope you win. I hope you get to feel that _loathing_ of yourself and you get to realize that all those people you killed meant nothing. I hope you live – long enough to get passed through the Capitol and long enough to see everyone you love die before your eyes."

"Johanna!" Derek yells. He grabs me by my arm, pulling me away from the table. " _That is enough_ " he hisses, shoving me roughly towards the hallway leading to the bedrooms.

I turn to face him, my hands trembling with fury. They don't get to do that, none of them. Karina emerges, ushering the tributes away and into the elevator. No one says anything. Even with the tributes gone, Derek stares at me with his own anger.

I turn and stalk down the hall, slamming my door behind me. Rage courses through me, giving me more energy than I've had in weeks. Somehow I end up in the bathroom, exactly where I've stood a hundred times. I stare at the black pits in my eyes. Against my pale skin the bright red hickey stands out, glaring at me. I grab the metal toothbrush holder and throw it with all my force into the mirror. Cracks spread immediately, but it doesn't break. I grab everything, hurling it at the mirror until it's nothing but shards spread over the counter.

It isn't fair.

I fall to the ground; the sobs I've been holding back finally breaking free. I don't have any control over it, the tears fall of their own accord. I hate myself. I'm so weak. My head falls between my knees, desperately sucking in breaths between heart shattering sobs.

This time when I want to scream, I don't swallow it down. The sound pierces my ears, sending me further into oblivion than I've ever gone. I don't want anyone, but when Derek kneels beside me, his arms pulling me to him, I fall against his shoulder and let him hold me.

It isn't fair, treating the tributes like that. I know I shouldn't do it, but I can't control it. Seeing their faces, the hope and fear just makes me feel so disheartened. It makes me so… _angry._

I wish I had known. I wish Derek had been able to tell me, to really make me understand what winning would do to me.

It wasn't even the truth that I told them. I went to that house willingly last night. I consented. But I don't feel any better about it than all the times I didn't have a choice. Even now I'm still nothing more than an item to be passed around. I'm hardly even human.

I clench my jaw tightly, trying to quell the sobs. Derek sits with me until I've calmed down enough to stand up and brush the broken glass from my clothes. He calls for someone to come clean up the mess and fix the mirror. It won't be the first time I've had it repaired.

After a shower, another cup of coffee, and a real breakfast, I finally feel relatively normal. Derek watches me cautiously and tries to protest when I go to leave, but I don't listen. I take the elevator down to the Control room, where, like planned, Nut and Volts are sitting, talking about something unimportant.

I approach them directly, still shaky from before. "You'll get your damn money" I say, pulling the bracelet from my wrist and dropping it into Nut's lap. I cross my arms firmly over my chest, "anything else I can do for you?" I ask sarcastically.

"Thank you, Johanna" he nods at me, tucking the silver piece into his pocket. "You're very generous."

I look at him. "No, I'm not. I don't give a damn about you or your tributes. I did this for me."

"Believe what you'd like" he calls after me as I return to the elevator.

I want to say something in retort but frankly I don't have the energy.

My head swims warmly with the influence of the drinks Finnick and I have downed over the last hour. The voice talking on the T.V. seems far away and alien. The pounding in my head has since ceased, replaced by the numbness of alcohol.

Finnick didn't have to ask when he saw the bags under my eyes. I lean my head back on the crimson couch, my eyes heavy with exhaustion. "Is he actually coming?" I ask to no one in particular.

Aside from me and Finnick, Brenda, Nuts, Woof and Cecilia from 8, Warren from 10, Chaff and Seeder from 11, and, most uncomfortably, Derek, sit on the circular couch. We were all surprised to get a request from Haymitch to meet. I'd been to a handful of these meetings – mostly other Victors trying to create alliances for their tributes. I'd never paid much attention. We're all curious to see what he has to say. We're even more curious about his tributes.

Haymitch comes in a minute later, still surprisingly sober. He looks at each of us in turn, seemingly irritated at the whole thing. I would expect nothing less.

I lean forward, downing the last of the whisky and setting the glass on the table. I'm ready to say something when Haymitch sits across from me, but Finnick beats me to it. "So what's this about? I don't think I've ever seen you looking this serious."

"What do you need from us?" Cecilia asks gently.

Haymitch's eyes stare longingly at the drinks scattered throughout the room. He runs his hand over his scruffy face and I notice how bloodshot his eyes are. "Wish I didn't," he growls "but I need your help. The girl needs to win."

"Sure" I let out a breath "and you expect us to abandon our own tributes to make that happen?"

Haymitch sucks on his lips, giving me a dirty look. "She's famous. She's already created quite a stir. We could use someone like her" he says slowly. The implication hangs in the air. I glance at Finnick, letting my gaze trail from him around the room, finally ending on Derek. So all of these people know about the _rebellion_. Why didn't Derek ever say anything? He doesn't look the least bit surprised.

"What about the boy?" Finnick asks.

Haymitch sighs, resting his face in his hands for a few breaths before looking back up. "We can use him. He doesn't expect to win – he doesn't want to. In some sick twist of fate, he's in love with the girl. He'll die for her."

"That's bullshit" I snap. "Love or not, he won't just lie down and die for her."

"He would. He's a true kid. Better than you or me, sweetheart" he smiles cruelly at me.

I lean against the cushions once again, letting the others do the talking for a while. So the boy's in love with her. What are the odds of that? Even better, how convenient for us. There's nothing the Capitol loves more than a tragic love story. If a figurehead is what we need, she'd be a damn good image. "You're sure she can do it?" I ask after a while of talking.

"She can" Haymitch nods.

Finnick finishes the rest of his drink, setting the empty glass down beside mine "if she can get past the others."

I nod. It's all good and dandy for the mentors to have an agreement, but in the arena there's precious little we can do. She might be able to get past the majority of them, but the Careers are no easy feat. And there's no telling how she'll react once there's blood on her hands.

Haymitch takes a thoughtful breath. "She's been a rebel her whole life. Getting out of the arena shouldn't be much more of a hurdle than anything else she's faced. I know it's not a simple thing to ask, but if at least your tributes stay out of the way… the better off she is." His eyes glance around the room, eventually landing on me. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"Alright then" Finnick nods.

"She doesn't know about any of this," Woof waves his hands, "does she?"

Haymitch shakes his head "Not a clue."

Finnick laughs, shaking his head. "He could be quite a martyr" he says, his eyes light up with excitement. "Do you think she would make a good Victor?"

Clearly he doesn't actually mean Victor. He's asking if she would be willing to be a part of the rebellion, potentially a very crucial part. "Oh, not on purpose. That girl can't act for shit. It's her intentions though that make her good."

"That's a risk" I snap, picking at the edge of a fingernail.

"Isn't everything?" Derek asks, speaking for the first time. He looks me straight in the eye, suddenly more youthful and strong than I've ever seen him. I get the point and nod at him. Technically, _I_ was a risk. Kane was a much better tribute. By all intents and purposes, he should be the one here instead of me.

I shrug, "alright" I turn to Haymitch, "our tributes don't have a chance anyway."

The others agree without much hesitation. It's a long shot anyway, but no one thinks it's a bad idea. Haymitch is gone almost as soon as he gets his consensus and the others follow close behind. In the end it's just me and Finnick sitting there, not speaking but taking in the comfort of each other's presence. He gets us more booze and instead of going to his or my floor, we stay in the private room and drink ourselves silly.

He leans back into the cushions, his bare feet propped up on the glass table. Even with my head swimming, I notice the fresh, barley healed red cut up the side of his hand. I down the rest of my glass, leaning forward to clamp my fingers around his wrist.

"What happened?" I ask.

It takes him a minute, looking down at him arm before he smiles. "Lures. Nasty little boogers. Annie cleaned it up for me."

That would explain why it's ragged and probably slightly infected. "Well she did a shit job at it" I mutter, dropping his hand.

He laughs but nods his head. At least he doesn't have any illusions. "She did her best" he jokes, examining the scar. It'll probably be there forever. A chink in the marble.

"You really love her, don't you?" I ask quietly. I don't know why I asked it, but it just slipped out. Finnick looks just about as surprised as I feel by the sudden change in tone.

"I do" he nods.

"When did you know?" my voice is quiet. That's the thing with liquor; as much as it takes the pain away, it brings it all crashing back down.

"I'm not sure…" he says slowly "it just… kind of happened."

I nod, chewing on the edge of my thumbnail. "Do you hide it from her?"

He knows what I mean even without explanation. The fear, the nightmares, the sex, the alcohol, the death. All of it. "Sometimes."

Finnick leans forward, refilling his drink before leaning back. We're close enough that our arms touch. With the sudden throbbing of a headache, I lean my head against his shoulder and sigh.

"Must be nice" I murmur.

With Vinny, I did nothing other than hide and lie. He couldn't know. It was a burden I couldn't put on him. And it would likely have gotten him killed. Annie might be unstable, but she knows, to an extent, what it's like. There's things they wouldn't have to explain like I did with Vinny. They could just… understand.

When Finnick falls asleep on my shoulder hours later, I shake him awake, telling him to go back upstairs. The night is still young and he has places to be. He's drunk enough that he doesn't argue but stumbles to the elevator. I wave him on without me. I'm not ready to go up to my floor yet. Instead I lie down on the couch, wrapping my arms around my torso as I stare at the muted T.V.

The next thing I know I'm waking up. I jerk to attention, my head protesting the sudden movement. The warmth in my limbs and sensation of cotton in my ears tells me that I'm still freshly drunk, not yet hungover. A clock on the wall tells me its four in the morning. I sigh, starring up at the ceiling before deciding to finally head upstairs. I have to catch my balance at first, but I make it to the elevator without a problem.

I lean against the wall, holding onto the metal railings around the sides for support. I have my eyes closed but when the doors slide open, I pull them open. The meeting rooms are two stories beneath the lobby, which I'm now staring into.

Of all the people to be on the other side, it's Brenda, Finnick's young, new partner. She has tears in her eyes and sways so wildly on her feet that I know she's twice as drunk as I am. Probably more. We look at each other for a long moment before I push away from the wall. I take her by the arm and gently pull her into the elevator. Almost immediately she bursts into sobs. There's the beginnings of a bruise on her cheek and she reeks with the stench of alcohol. Whoever she was with, they treated her roughly.

I push my fist into the number 4. I don't know if Finnick will be back yet, he had to go out tonight too. I consider leaving her on her floor, but the dark silence makes me reconsider. Just last night this was me. I had Derek to take care of me, but Brenda, at least for the moment, is alone. I don't know any of the other Victors up here and I don't feel like knocking on doors until I find someone.

With my arm around her shoulders I pull her into the apartment and lead her to her room, the same as mine only three floors down. I sit her down on her bed. Her eyes are fuzzy and distant, but she doesn't stop crying.

I rummage through the closet, finding some gray sweats and a loose black shirt. She flinches when I touch her, but eventually lets me help her change her clothes. I bite my tongue to keep from gawking at the bruises decorating her abdomen. Her bra is torn but I don't make her take it off.

She hugs herself tightly as I walk into her bathroom. I fill up a glass with cold water and bring it her, pressing it to her lips for her. Her eyes look at me through the tears. "Thank you" she whispers, her voice seeming to break as she uses it.

"Don't worry about it" I say, pressing the glass to her lips once more. She takes a sip but pushes the rest of it away. I sigh, pulling back the blankets for her to curl under. Her eyes seem clearer once she's tucked in, but she's still far beyond drunk. If I had to make a guess, whoever it was drugged her.

"Why?" she asks, the crackle in her voice making my own throat constrict. I sit down on the edge of the bed, facing her just enough that I can see how she stares at me. Even when drunk, there's caution there, but there's also confusion and pain. "You hate me" she murmurs into the pillow.

From how she's lying, her arm rests against my leg under the blankets. She doesn't seem bothered by the contact if she's even aware of it. Another wave of tears makes her shudder. I grab her hand, squeezing it tightly, "we have to depend on someone" I say.

She makes a noncommittal sound, shifting under the blankets. The movement makes her groan in pain.

She holds onto my hand until she's fast asleep, breathing softly in the dark. I look down at her, the red splotches over her cheeks and bruise under her eye, it makes me mad, but more than anything, it makes me sad. "I don't hate you" I whisper.


	65. Chapter 65

"I am half agony, half hope"

~Jane Austen, _Persuasion_

I sit on her bed for a lot longer than I mean to. There's no desire for me to get up or move, all I can do is sit here and stare into the dark, Brenda's hand clutching mine. Only when I hear footsteps do I come to my senses. In the hallway I see the dark shape of Finnick trudging to his room. He sees me but he doesn't say a word. He nods at his room and I silently close the door to Brenda's and follow him in.

I stand in the center of the room, making eye contact with him as he sits heavily on the edge on the bed. Aggressively he runs his hand over his face, pressing his fingers so hard against his skin I'd think he was trying to rip it off. I make a questioning face at him when he looks back up at me. He just shrugs, running his fingers through his hair.

Sucking in a breath through my nose, I move to sit down next to him. I'm overwhelmed by the smell of liquor and cigarettes. "You need a shower" I try to say lightly, but all it does it make him frown.

He turns his head, breathing in the scent of his thin shirt. Deep set lines appear between his eyes. With a quick intake of breath, he lurches to his feet. In a quick, albeit jerky motion, he pulls his shirt over his head. I know that feeling, of need to be out of your clothes _immediately_. Or hell, even your own skin.

Holding his shirt in one hand, Finnick pauses. On his chest, trailing down his stomach in increments, is what I assume to be lipstick. I can still make out the shape of the woman's lips who made them. The trail disappears past his waistband, and I can only guess where it ends. But those aren't his only battle wounds. Red, angry claw marks streak his chest and all the way down his back.

I pretend not to notice them and force my face to stay indifferent. Shaking his head, he finally tosses his shirt into a corner, moving to the bathroom where I hear the shower turn on.

I lie next to him when he climbs into bed after a while. He doesn't have to say a word, unlike with Brenda, I know exactly what he needs from me. I wrap my arms around him, holding him tightly as tears leak from his eyes. It never gets easier, this life. It fills me with rage, seeing him like this, broken and crying in my arms. He's so strong, stronger than I'll ever be, but they still break him over and over again.

I wake up late in the afternoon, Finnick still sleeping beside me, one arm wrapped around me like he's afraid I'll get up and leave. I never leave. Screw my tributes, Finnick needs me more and, frankly, I'd rather be with him than their morbid company. I skip all their training – let Derek lecture me about it later. He _also_ agreed to stop coaching them.

The day of the final training session starts with me in the exact same position, in bed with Finnick. He watches me cautiously as I catch my breath, trying to stop shaking. It was one of those dreams that's not really a dream, but a memory. Even now I can still smell the smoke, mixed with the scent of burning flesh. I swear, even though I'm inside, I can see the ashes falling down around me.

"They burned alive" I mutter, not really speaking to Finnick but knowing he's listening all the same. "I couldn't do anything… I – I couldn't…."

Finnick sighs. "I've had that dream."

"It wasn't a dream, Finnick."

He pauses and in the early morning light I can see him watching me. "Oh, I didn't-"

"Don't" I interrupt.

Instead of my own tributes, I think of Katniss. Hopefully she'll prove herself. Haymitch is confident she'll do well, but today she has to prove it and get enough sponsors to keep her alive.

I scoot closer to Finnick, feeling his warmth. My head lies on his chest as I think – intimate but completely unromantic. If everything works out perfectly, Katniss will win and the boy will be a martyr. She could be the face of a rebellion. More likely than not, she'll fail, and we'll stay in shadows, forever waiting for the next opportunity.

Finnick wakes once again with a start, flinching violently at the remnants of some dream. His eyes are wild when they meet mine. He's confused for a moment, likely having expected me to be Annie, but relaxes. His fingers tighten over my arm as he stares up at the ceiling, his breathing fast with fear. I can't help but wonder what he saw in his dreams.

Even with my dramatic decline in nightly _visits_ , the thought of them sends me into a panic. I can't imagine being Finnick, forced to go night after night or face the murder of the woman he loves. He never gets a break and he likely never will.

I grab his jaw, forcing him to look at me. "You're okay" I tell him.

"What time is it?" he asks.

"Twelve maybe?" I say and immediately he shoots up into a sitting position. He's worried about his tributes even though he's planning to let them die. I scoot out of his way, trying to get him to lie back down, but he has so much adrenaline in his veins that he jumps out of bed.

I sigh and follow him. His apartment is empty aside from Brenda curled up on the couch, staring blankly at the T.V. She gives us a curious glance but shrugs it off. She's trying to pretend the other night never happened, that I didn't bring her back her and take care of her. It's all fine with me, I'm good at pretending.

The three of us spend the afternoon on those couches, talking sparsely but taking comfort in the company. I lean my head on Finnick's shoulder, exhaustion making my eyes heavy. Each minute it comes closer to the time I know I have to return to my own floor, the harder it becomes to move. But, at Finnick's insistence, I finally go.

The question of the scores twists in my stomach as I ride the elevator up. I don't know what I'm rooting for, or what to expect. A high score proves her strength, but a low score doesn't disqualify her either – I only got a three and yet here I stand.

I brace myself when the doors open and enter the dining room. Derek, the tributes, and the others are already there, though it seems I'm on time to eat. Their voices die down and they turn to me. I ignore it, falling into my chair beside Derek and reaching for the wine. "Well" I sigh "how'd you do?"

Oliver makes a face but looks down at his plate. "I think it was okay. I hit two dummies with the knives."

I raise my eyebrows, unimpressed. "Marta?" I ask.

She shrugs, "I don't know. I did the ropes course without falling…"

Definitely not impressive "okay" I say.

"Okay?" she asks, looking up at me "do you think that's enough?"

I look at her calmly, sipping at the wine before setting it down. "No. I don't. I still think you're going to die. But, please, feel free to prove me wrong."

Her face falls and she stops eating. Derek shakes his head at me but I know he isn't actually mad. At this point, it's just a flaw in my character.

When we move to the couches to watch the scores, I'm surprised when Derek sits beside me, close enough that our arms touch. "Are you okay?" he asks softly, leaning close enough that no one else can hear.

I shrug noncommittally. He smiles, shaking his head slightly. Together we watch the tribute's faces as the scores are announced, like two helpless parents.

The Careers get traditional scores, even the ones from 4. They're still strong even without Finnick's and Brenda's help. Oliver gets a four, and Marta a five. They seem encouraged but when the little 12-year-old from 11 pulls a score higher than them, their faces fall. I'm impressed with Peeta, getting an eight when he plans to die. But it's Katniss that gets my attention. I find myself leaning forward, waiting to see what number will appear.

The 11 appears and we all fall into shocked silence. Never have I seen someone get an eleven. It's unheard of. Karina and Lucile gasp, both holding their hands to their chests like their hearts might stop. To stop the smile from spreading over my face, I bring the wine glass to my lips, downing it in a single gulp.

My head pounds, both with excitement and the increasing buzz. Karina looks at me, her face confused by my expression. I can't help but laugh; it might be the strangest thing to happen yet.

"What did she do?" Oliver asks, sounding terrified.

"Something unique" Derek responds, scrutinizing the T.V.

" _Or_ " I but in, ignoring everyone's cautious and doubtful looks, "they're painting a target on her back."

"Really?" Oliver asks, a little more hopeful.

I shrug nonchalantly. "The Careers take out the strongest ones first. The higher the score, the bigger the target. Why do you think I got a three?" I grumble. Getting to my feet I grab the bottle of wine, still half full and take a drink straight from it.

"Johanna" Derek sounds tired.

I wave my hand at him, "save it."

Derek shakes his head at me, this time disappointed, as I turn and walk down the hall to my room. I take another drink, falling onto my bed ungracefully. I breathe deeply, still smiling as I think of that eleven. Even after the sun sets and I've finished the wine, I can't stop smiling

"Jo?" a voice calls from the cracked open door. Finnick kicks the door open, closing it behind him. "I thought you'd be celebrating."

He sits on the edge of the bed, smiling at the bottle of wine, now on the floor. "What are you doing here?" I ask him. I'm thrilled that he is, he might be my current favorite person, but he's usually more dedicated to his tributes than I am.

"I watched the scores" he says. He kicks off his shoes and lies down beside me, pushing me over to make room for him. I make a face at him but still move over. "I thought I'd come see what you thought of it." I roll my eyes at him but can't stop the smile.

Part of the shock is that no one has gotten an eleven in over twenty years. Even then, there have only been a handful of them. What did she do that impressed the Gamemakers so much? Could she really be that talented? I'm impressed, but there's also something else chewing at me. My strategy was to lay low, to hide my skills to stay alive. She couldn't be doing anything more different. Now, Katniss will be a target.

I hadn't realized how much I was hoping it would work out until I feel the disappointment sinking through me. She could be the best tool we've ever had, but now she'll likely just get killed off at the cornucopia.

"Jo" Finnick says, pulling my attention to him "you're somewhere else." He lies on his side, his head propped up on his fist.

"I'm fine" I say. He nods, clearly not believing me. He's trying to stay awake, but the bags under his eyes fill me in on how exhausted he is. "Go to sleep" I tell him and with little protest, he does. My mind is racing too fast for me to even consider doing the same.

Watching Finnick sleep reminds me of what's at stake. If, in some way, this _girl on fire_ wins, the boy becomes a martyr, and there's a face for the Capitol to see, to love, and to listen to, then maybe one day we'll live in a world without all this pain. It could be a world I've always wanted, one that my parents, Johnathan, Vinny, and every lost tribute dreamed for. It's a world in which we can sleep without fear of being woken up to a gun and Peacekeepers, one in which Finnick, the kindest and gentlest person I know, doesn't have to go through hell night after night. Even if just for that, to give him his sanity back, it would be worth it.


	66. Chapter 66

"The heart dies a slow death, shedding each hope like leaves until one day there are none. No hopes. Nothing remains"

~Arthur Golden, _Memoirs Of A Geisha_

My tributes are terrified out of their minds, standing backstage. Marta picks at her red and white dress, despite Lucille's constant snapping at her. Oliver stares at his feet, his hands balled into fists though I can still see them tremble. I resist the urge to roll my eyes and instead examine the rest of the competition.

The Careers are huddled together, talking like they've known each other all their lives. Facing me is the girl from one, her bouncy blonde curls swaying every time she moves. The amount of skin she's showing is dramatic, and though I try to look away, my eyes keep returning. Obviously she's going for the sexy and irresistible look.

I spot Katniss, dressed differently than before. But as much as she intrigues me, it isn't her that holds my attention. The twelve-year-old, the one from 11, stands in front of her, her face surprisingly calm. A part of me wants to go to her, to comfort her through her strength. She shouldn't have to be this brave. She _should_ be crying and shaking like my tributes, but instead she stands with her head held tall. Even though I'll never even speak to her, I know the thought of her will haunt me for years.

I dig my fingernails into my palm to keep myself from approaching her. She's too young to be here. If I could save her, I would. Even with dark skin and hair in tight curls, I can't help but see Lily in her face. Someone will be losing her soon, and it isn't fair.

I can almost imagine taking her small hand and running my fingers over her hair, like I used to do with Lily. It hurts that I can't do anything for her. If Katniss is to win, then this innocent little girl has to die.

There's a white flower clip in her hair, keeping her face free of stray strands. It's comically childish. Maybe that's what they're going for in 11, remind everyone of her youth and maybe get some sympathy.

I straighten my spine, forcing my gaze away from her. There's no point to it, it'll only make it harder to watch her die. My stomach constricts at the thought. Already, I know it's going to hurt like a punch in the gut. It's as good as sending my own sister to die.

Finally, we're called to our seats and the tributes are led onto stage. I sit close to Derek, who seems to be having similar thoughts, as he grabs my hand and squeezes it just once before setting it back in his lap. I could never deserve someone like him to care about me.

I don't start paying attention until both District 1 tributes are gone and the small girl from 2 is in the white seat beside Caesar. She's confident, and feline in her movements. Despite her stature, she might be the real threat of the Career pack.

Cato, her district partner, sets me on edge. I dig my fingernails into my seat. He's so damn stereotypical – a brute with insatiable bloodlust. The crowd goes crazy for him, but if I could pick someone to kill first, he would be my first choice. He actually seems excited to get into the arena. He fully expects to win, and I wish I could disagree with him

The tributes from 3 leave a faint impression, but nothing significant. Finnick told me enough about his tributes that I'm not surprised when they're not particularly flashy for Careers. The boy is young, younger than most Careers. While District 4 is a Career district, they're not nearly as trained as 1 and 2.

5 and 6 pass without an impression. When Marta makes her appearance she's quiet but at least manages to hold her head high and keep from crying. Caesar asks her what she thinks about coming from a district with a disproportionate amount of male Victors.

"That's no reason to be ignored" she says, "we both know who the most impressive Victor from 7 is."

The crowd claps for her. I'm sure the cameras are on me so I keep my face set in stone, if not in a scowl.

Oliver is pathetic. He answers plainly and makes no comment worth a sponsor's dollar. Along with 8, 9, and 10, I'm about ready to fall asleep. I tense when Rue's on stage. It's too difficult to listen to her for long. Hearing her mention her siblings makes my heart break. Listening to her is near unbearable. I stare down at my fingernails, trying to forget everything she says as she says it. Her bravery is heartbreaking. She must know she's going to die, and yet she can at least keep her chin held high while others are visibly quivering in their chairs.

Thresh, on the other hand is furious, which only makes me like him even more. I've never cared before about the competition, but they're so much more likeable this year now that I'm hoping for their deaths.

Then it's Katniss's turn. Immediately the audience is screeching and cheering, their volume ear splittingly loud. She's mesmerizing, even as she crosses the stage. There's an aura about her that just keeps the attention.

The last thing I expect out of her is humor. She even manages to bring a smile to my face, which annoys me endlessly. She's hesitant at first, and I think I can see fear in her eyes, but the more she talks and the more Caesar pushes, the more relaxed she gets. I can tell the audience and, more importantly, the sponsors, adore her.

When she stands, my jaw drops. Her dress bursts into flames right before my eyes, growing as she twirls, making her looks like she's being engulfed while simultaneously looking like a goddess. The Capitol cheers for the beauty, but all I can see is the symbolism. She can withstand the inferno without being burned.

Caesar gets her sitting back down and the audience quiet before leaning forward like they're sharing a secret. Of course it's the sister, it's his favorite question to ask. And yet, I find myself leaning forward to hear what she says.

There's more to her than being on fire. She _is_ the flame. There's so much passion as she talks about her sister; Prim she calls her. It's empowering and invigorating but some small part of me hates it. Why does _she_ get this chance? I never had the opportunity to save my sister. I've never been kind or selfless or giggled on stage. She's perfect. And it isn't fair.

Caesar dismisses her and the audience screams for a long time. Peeta is up next and while I've been braced for his confession, I still find myself tense. The whole time he plays around the idea of love and lost chances, it has everyone on the edge of their seat.

Then, he drops the bombshell. The gasp that spreads through the room is contagious. People jump to their feet, screaming their excitement at the possibility of a love story. I watch Peeta, impressed by his bravery and calmness. It's a shame that he has to die, but, if for whatever reason Katniss doesn't make it, he wouldn't be a bad alternative.

Quickly the show is ended. Derek pulls me to my feet, leading me gently by the elbow through the crowds of screeching patrons.

We collect Oliver and Marta and head back up to our floor. The silence in the elevator is thick enough to cut through. Between all the others, neither of them made any impression. I don't have to tell them that they don't have nearly enough sponsors to make any kind of impact on their chances. Marta even has tears in her eyes as we ride up the elevator and her bottom lip is trembling violently.

Derek looks at them sadly as they walk in front of us into the living room. "Why don't you two head to bed" he tells them gently. I know he agrees with me that they'll be dead soon, but he still cares.

Marta hesitates but nods. "Thank you, both of you" she murmurs. Her face is red and already her eyes are puffy with unshed tears. She won't be sleeping tonight.

"Of course" Derek nods, putting his hand on her shoulder before sending her off.

She disappears and we're left alone with Oliver. He's starring down the hall after her, ready to follow. Before he goes through, I stop him. "You'll be alright" I say.

He looks at me, surprise in his face "really?"

"I won't promise you anything but… I'll be watching the whole time" I smile at him weakly. "I promise."

"Thank you" he whispers, his voice suddenly full of emotion. "I don't want to die" he confesses. He looks so innocent, so much like how I felt the day before my Games.

"Don't give up yet" I say. I said I'd let him die, wouldn't coach him, and I won't, but looking at him now I can't crush him. As much as he tries, he won't win anyway.

He looks at me for a long time, coming to some realization in his mind. "Any advice?" he looks between me and Derek desperately.

I almost don't say anything. Derek gives him the comforting, "you know what you need to do. Stick to the plan" and all that bullshit. But when they both look at me, I let out a breath. "Run fast" I say before waving him off.

I stare after him, looking at the dark hallway until my legs ache with the stillness. Derek bids me goodnight, but I remain rooted to the spot. I can't help but see them, all of them, in the darkness. Cam, Lily, Jonathan, and the tributes, each one of them: Marcus, Milena, Jillian, Ivan, and Marta and Oliver. I'll never unsee them, waiting just out of reach.

I can't take a step. I can't move towards their ghosts. So, instead of forward, I turn around and slam my fist into the elevator button. I ball my fists together to keep them from shaking. The doors slide open on the fourth floor and I'm greeted with darkness. Finnick must have gone to bed already. This is his first night of freedom until his tributes are dead, so I know he's here somewhere.

I knock on the door to his room but don't wait before pushing it open. He sits up, starring at me sleepily. The tears are in my eyes against my control but I refuse to let them fall. Finnick pulls back the blankets, welcoming me in as I walk towards him. I tuck myself in beside him, feeling the comfort of his warmth and presence. Even now, a week away from the ocean, he still smells like salt. It stays with me as I fall asleep, keeping me calm and the terror at bay, plunging me into dreams of District 7, instead of the nightmares I'm so accustomed to.

 _Jonathan's laugh is contagious, making me smile despite my determination to be mad at him. He kneels in front of where I sit on the forest floor, my arm bleeding against my shirt. He wanted to teach me how to throw knives but I had more of a knack for hurting myself than any of the targets he gave me._

 _"Stop trying to teach me" I grumble. He's my big brother, my idol. I want nothing more than to be like him, but the humiliation of failure makes me want to run and hide._

 _"Never" he says, smiling. He must see the disappointment in my eyes because he taps my chin, making me look up at him. "You can do anything, Jo."_

 _"I can't be as good as you. I can't figure it out" I cross my arms. I dab at the slice across my elbow, not wanting to look at Jonathan to see the compassion there._

 _"Don't say that. You are so much smarter than I am, you'll get there." He pulls my hand away, taking some water out of the small pouch and running it over the cut._

 _"Yeah?" I ask, watching him work._

 _"Of course" he smiles at me, putting the water back on the ground. "You're my sister, Jo, which means you're my favorite person in the whole District, okay? Don't give up on yourself" he kisses me on the forehead before pulling me to my feet._

It's a dream, but it's also a memory. He died only a few weeks after that.

"Jo?" Finnick asks, his mouth against my hair "what are you thinking about?"

"My brother" I whisper, feeling the weight of his loss.

"You never talk about him; you know" he shifts so he can see my face. "You don't have to be so quiet all the time."

"Neither do you" I say. It's isn't mean, the way I say it, but it's a point. He mentioned once that he had a brother. _Had_ , as in past tense, but he never elaborated and I never asked. I knew exactly what that was like.

"His name was Flynn" he sighs. "He was fifteen, but he was better at me in everything – looks, fishing, women. Everything. It was Peacekeepers. They pushed a girl off the docks and he dove in after her. They wouldn't let him back up. It was winter, and cold. He didn't last very long."

I wrap my arm around him, pulling him close to me. My neck is tight but I force myself to speak. "Johnathan was his name. Logging accident. They happen all the time but… this time it was him and my mother standing in the wrong spot. It was horrible. They didn't die immediately either, just suffered for hours before they died. Compared to my mom, he went fast."

I pause, feeling the constriction in my throat. There's nothing more I can say so I just shake my head. I remember when he died like it happened only minutes ago. The worst part was that I couldn't even go to my mother. We didn't tell her. She was in so much pain and we knew she wasn't going to survive, so why burden her with the knowledge that her son was dead. But I think she knew. All I wanted was to curl up by her side and share my grief with her, but I couldn't. Instead all I could do was sit by her feet and watch her die.

"I'm so sorry" he says, his own arms tight around me. A single tear slips from his eyes down his cheek.

"It's isn't your fault. None of this is" I whisper to him.

"It isn't yours either" he points out. I nod, but I don't believe him. It feels like just about everything is my fault.


	67. Chapter 67

"I don't have any problem understanding why people flunk out of college or quit their jobs or cheat on each other of break the law or spray-paint walls. A little bit outside of things is where some people feel each other. We do it to replace the frame of family. We do it to erase the remake our origins in their own images. To say, I too was here"

~Lidia Yuknavitch, _The Chronology Of Water_

We talk quietly throughout the night, each with tears in our eyes and grief in our voices. Years of friendship and we've never talked about this, our shared agony of losing our brothers. We go back and forth, sharing thoughts and memories and fears, wondering what might have been if they were still here – if only something was different.

Finnick's brother died the year after he won. He doesn't know if it was by Snow's orders or not, but it haunts him endlessly. Unlike him, I know it was Snow that killed the rest of my family. Jonathan may have escaped his grasp, but in the end, it didn't matter.

But, also unlike Finnick, their deaths _were_ my fault. I should've been there when my mother and Jonathan were working. I should have sucked up my fear and protected my family. Each death was my fault, and I can't ever change that.

"Stop" Finnick orders me, sounding the most awake he has all night. "It _isn't_ your fault. I've been in your position for a long time Jo, blaming yourself won't fix anything."

"I can't do anything else" I murmur, burying my face in his neck.

"Just try" he whispers.

When the sky begins to lighten, we fall silent. The city is coming back to life, which means the Games are about to begin.

More deaths are to come.

Finnick rolls onto his back, staring at me with exhausted eyes. We should get up, get our tributes and comfort them. There's soft footsteps outside the door, but they disappear down the hallway. Probably Brenda or Mags or an avox getting ready for the day.

"We only have twenty minutes" Finnick sighs, looking at the illuminated alarm clock. "We should probably get up" he swings his legs out of bed and walks into the bathroom.

I follow him, stretching my arms above my head once I'm standing. Finnick changes his clothes but I keep what I have on, though I should start leaving clothes down here with how often I spend the night. My shoes are lying upside down next to the door.

I stand there for a minute, brushing my fingers through my hair. "You look festive" Finnick says, coming back out of the bathroom, a smile on his face instead of tears from a few hours ago.

"Am I supposed to?" I retort, unable to stop from smirking back at him. I push him arm playfully. Not even Derek can turn my mood so easily or quickly. I love Derek, but he just doesn't understand me the way that Finnick does.

He puts his arm over my shoulders, pulling me with him as he exits his room and leads me to the elevator. I can't stop from pulling him into a hug, one tight, desperate and full of silent words. "Happy Hunger Games" I say with too much gusto, stepping back into the elevator.

When the doors close and separate us, I fall back against the wall. It's a strange relationship we have, I know that, but it's crucial to my sanity. I've never been to his home, and he's never been to mine. I've met Annie only once, the most important person in the world to him, but I know everything about her. All we have are these weeks in the summer when we're at our most vulnerable.

In a few minutes I'm back on my floor with Marta, who is struggling to keep her tears under control as I wait for her to get dressed. She doesn't listen to a word I say, so I stop trying. I give her shoulder a squeeze before sending her out to the hovercraft. Once she's out of sight, I turn on my heels and head down to the control room floors below.

When the doors open on the floor of the control room, I'm surprised to be greeted with a flashing light. Normally there's reporters down here, but this time, there's a dozen more than usual. I glare at them, not caring as I run into a small-statured man.

"Johanna!" a woman's voice cuts above the rest. Despite my better intentions, I glance over at her. She takes my acknowledgement with excitement. "What do you think about District 7's odds this year?"

"Slim" I hiss. "But who the hell knows. They have better odds than I did."

I shoot them deathly glares, satisfied when they move out of the way to let me push into the control room. Thankfully, they aren't allowed in here.

Finnick is waiting for me, hot coffee with sugar cubes floating in it. "None for me?" Brenda snaps, seeming both amused and irritated as she sinks into her chair beside him, her fingers pressed to her temples.

"You don't even like coffee" he laughs, pulling my arm for me to sit in the seat beside him. He sips at his coffee greedily while I just hold it tightly between my hands.

With the position of District 4's station, we can see each person as they enter the room. An hour or so later, when Haymitch makes his entrance, the whole room, the one's invested in District 12 anyway, freezes. Finnick elbows me in the ribs, a smile on his face as Haymitch grabs his own coffee. "It's end times. Haymitch is here _and_ sober."

"A very unfortunate fact" Haymitch growls as he passes by, making eye contact with me as he does so.

"You're in clean clothes" I say, more to myself than anyone else. By clean, I mean there's no vomit stains running down the front.

"Indeed I am, sweetheart" he pushes past me and sits in his chair.

"Didn't actually think it was possible" Finnick says, turning back so he's facing me again. He downs the rest of his coffee "Maybe we're still asleep."

I laugh, rising to my feet and snatching his cup from his hands. I refill his and mine, despite only having drank a few sips. Patrick, the reclusive mentor from District 6, is there, pouring a tall glass of bourbon. I can see the fresh track marks on his arm as he does so.

I give Finnick back his drink but don't sit down with him. Derek is by himself, his head in his hands with an amber liquid of his own.

"I didn't expect you to come over here just yet," Derek says when I sit down. His voice is rough, "don't sit here because you feel bad for me."

I pick up his cup, examining it in my hand. Whiskey. His eyes are red and bloodshot – he must not have slept last night "tired?" I ask.

"Exhausted" he confirms, his voice scratchy. "Oliver was scared. _Really_ scared. I tried to tell him it'll be okay but… it isn't easy to lie."

"You did what you thought was right. It's hard to lie" I say.

"No it isn't. It's just what I have to do. What I _should_ do" he looks at me firmly.

"You think so?" I ask, knowing he's out of it and looking for a fight. "You're saying I take the easy way just because I won't tell them that they'll be okay and come home and have a life? You think I like seeing them terrified? You can be an asshole, Derek. I'm not going to say I do it the right way, but you don't get to criticize me about it. Maybe if you didn't get drunk first thing in the morning, you'd feel better."

Chaff, from 11, is standing close by, watching us. I know he and Derek have had some semblance of a friendship, so it doesn't surprise me when he gives me a shake of his head "You don't always have to be a bitch, Johanna" Derek says, sitting up straight so suddenly it makes me jump.

"I do, actually. That's who I am, Derek, I'm a bitch. You don't get to treat me as your punching bag. It isn't my fault you let me do it to you" I turn away from him, opening the menu on the screen in front of me. "Grow a spine" I add, taking a long drink of my coffee.

For the hundredth time I check for sponsors. Marta has one, only one, not even enough money to get her a water bottle though. I roll my eyes with a groan. Neither of us talk as we wait. When the tributes appear on screen, the whole room falls silent. It's time.

I watch them rise up into the arena in synchronicity. It's not Marta or Oliver I seek our first though, it's Katniss. Even from my spot I can see how they're baiting her with the bow and arrows; I just hope she's smart enough not to take it. The clock seems to tick ever faster, waiting for the moment when hell itself explodes.

Katniss bursts forward, sprinting as fast as she can. Only then do I look away, following Marta and Oliver as they race to the cornucopia. That's enough for me to know that they're done for. It won't be long before the Careers get to them.

Oliver is surprisingly fast and is one of the first to reach the cornucopia, grabbing the first knife he sees. I watch as he turns, already with the others on him. Cato from 2 cuts open his throat with his spear. That fast, and his screen turns to black before us.

He didn't even make it two minutes.

Marta tries to stay hidden, but the Careers see everything. This time it's Glimmer, the girl from 1, who grabs her. She throws her to the ground so that she lands face first in the dirt. She tries to crawl away, to get to her feet.

She never even gets to her knees. Glimmer grabs a long knife and plunges it in her back, right through her heart.

Her screen, too, falls black.

In under three minutes, the Games are over for District 7. Anger bursts inside me. I told them. I _told them_ to run! They didn't have a chance at the bloodbath! I slam my fist against the screens.

I look at Derek, who is staring at the screen with a dead expression, "you had it right. I need a drink" I say, pushing my chair back and walking away.

Finnick doesn't turn to look at me when I stop next to him, my arms crossed over my chest, "it can't get much worse than that." I sink into an empty chair beside him.

He raises his eyebrows, looking away from his screen to glance at my face, and then at Haymitch's. "As long as it's for the right people."

I follow his gaze. Haymitch has one hand propping up his chin as he rubs his fingers together. How can someone as pathetic as him be coaching the hopeful "wonder woman." "Do you think he can actually do it?" I ask, looking back at Finnick, "he's never bothered to try before."

"I don't know" Finnick confesses, taking my coffee out of my hands and drinking it himself.

I flick his head but don't stop him; I wasn't really drinking it anyway. The bloodbath is finally drawing to a close; the Careers are gathering at the mouth of the cornucopia, Katniss has fled into the forest, and Peeta, while not running, is hidden in the trees.

Something is happening, but I'm not sure what. I focus in on the main screen, the one that shows what the rest of Panem is seeing. It isn't Katniss that's the focus, but Peeta. He's watching the Careers, his fingers drumming nervously on his leg. It's when he steps out of the trees that my heart stops. What the _hell_ is he doing?

He's approaching them, his hands held in the air. He's going to get himself killed! It shouldn't matter, he's not our Victor, but this isn't how he was supposed to die.

 _Idiot_.

My heart plummets when the Careers notice him. The excitement that ripples through them is tangible. Cato takes the lead, strutting towards Peeta to meet him in the field, his spear twirling in his hand. "You must be one dumb asshole" he laughs.

Peeta doesn't flinch away from the Career, which I respect. "I want to join you" he says, his voice steady. He's strong, and confident, he could be one of them I suppose, but that's not who he's _supposed_ to be.

"Oh yeah?" Cato laughs "you hear that guys?" he turns to his companions who all laugh in turn.

"I'm serious" Peeta says. He looks at the other Careers, maintaining his confidence "I can help you. You want Katniss right? I can bring you to her."

My stomach drops. This wasn't the plan. He was supposed to be madly in love with her! Not ready to sell her out to the Careers! What kind of Game is he playing? Is it a trick?

The Careers talk quietly where Peeta can't hear them, but of course the arena is full of microphones for us to hear every word. There's doubt, but they agree. I rise to my feet, gripping the counter tightly. Finnick says something to me, but I don't hear it. I cross the room, hardly gathering attention with everyone watching the screens.

"Did you know about this?" I hiss, grabbing Haymitch by the collar on his shirt.

"Of course I did" he says slowly, not seeming to care that I'm an inch away from his face. "He was determined. I told him what to say. He doesn't plan on surviving anyway."

"So what? He's going to let them kill her? Lead them to her?" I'm ready to scream, or punch him in the face.

"No, sweetheart, don't be stupid. He's going to make sure they never find her. He was serious about what he said" Haymitch's voice is steady.

I sigh, letting him hand drop to pull on my hair "that's dangerous. I don't like it."

"Doesn't matter" Haymitch smiles, "he's doing it. He's my tribute, not yours."

"Like you care about your tributes. I thought _I_ was the reckless one." I scoff, rolling my eyes. "Just don't let her die."

"I won't" he responds, more calmly and sincere than I've ever heard.

I won't go up to my floor. I can't face Derek and I can't stand the thought of the empty bedrooms next to mine. Finnick doesn't want to leave his tributes and, as Derek is mad at me and I don't have any other friends, I end up at the tribute center bar, letting Capitol men buy me drinks for the hope of sex. There's some other Victors here, either by order or for escape, but not many.

It's a crimson haired man that approaches me just before one in the morning. I put up with his small talk for a while, ignoring most of it and making crude comments on occasion. I've drank enough that I can feel the anxiety in my chest suppressing and my limbs getting warm.

"Want another?" he asks me, his hand reaching out and running down my arm.

The movement makes me tense. I didn't plan on actually having sex with anyone tonight but, and maybe it's because I'm slightly drunk, some part of me wants to play along. Booze can only do so much, and last so long. All I want is to forget, to ignore the pain for just a little bit. I look at the man, considering him. Beneath the obviously fake hair color and strange tattoos, he could be attractive. I've certainly done worse. Perhaps it would be worth reconsidering… Fuck it. It's not like it can hurt

"No" I say. He looks put down. I grab his upper arm and set off in the opposite direction. "Come on" I tell him as we weave through the people and finally reach one of the side halls. I know the room I'm looking for, like the one we Haymitch called us to a few days ago.

When I find it, I push it open, pulling the nameless Capitol man in after me. His face is almost comically surprised when I lock the door and grab ahold of the edges of his jacket. "Woah" he sighs, his hands raising slightly.

"What?" I hiss, "this is what you wanted, wasn't it?"

He nods, dropping his hands back down, but I can tell he's nervous. He didn't expect his advances to work and, to be fair, they didn't. Nevertheless, I kiss him. Once. Hard enough and long enough to get him to forget the nerves and get into a rhythm.

I waste no time pulling off his coat and yanking his shirt over his head. I have him pressed against the wall, the change in position feeling strange, but good. It's the distraction that I so desperately need. I run my hands over his surprisingly well-muscled chest, kissing his neck until I reach his pants.

I hook my thumbs in his belt loops, tugging down just enough that he takes over, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants. While he pulls them off, I back up, pulling my own shirt over my head and leaning against the couch. In just his underwear, he comes to meet me, wrapping his hands in my hair and kissing me roughly.

With my hands around his neck, I spin us around, pushing him down onto the couch so that he's lying on his back. I climb on top of him, ignoring the beating of my heart and panicky sweat on the back of my neck and I sit with my knees on either side of his hips. I reach back, unhooking my bra before pulling off my own pants.

The man runs his hands over my thighs, up my back, to my neck and back down again as I climb back on top of him, this time without clothes. I keep my eyes open as I bend over him, refusing to give in to a flashback. I want this. For once, I'm choosing this. It might be the only thing I'm able to control.


	68. Chapter 68

"I let it go. It's like swimming against the current. It exhausts you. After a while, whoever you are, you just have to let it go, and the river brings you home"

~Joanna Harris, _Five Quarters Of The Orange_

My fingers are tangled in the fake crimson hair as sweat drips down my spine. We don't even last a minute before the door crashes open, sending me to the floor with panic. I'm on my back, searching for some kind of weapon. But it isn't a tribute, or a mutt looming over me, but two Peacekeepers. "Ms. Mason, you have a visitor" one of them says.

I smooth my face, trying not to reveal the fear and embarrassment of being stark naked. I grab my shirt and pull it over my head, hoping they don't notice my hands shaking. The two Peacekeepers grab the man, allowing him to grab his clothes before pulling him out of the room. In the few seconds I have, I can at least pull on my underwear, so I'm clothed to the midthigh with my shirt when President Snow strolls into the room.

I freeze, a cold sweat suddenly arising on my skin. He looks into my eyes boldly, a serpentine smile on his lips. Finally, after a moment, he takes a seat on the couch opposite where I remain on the floor, frozen in terror. "Please, sit" he motions where my still nameless partner was lying just seconds before.

The smell of roses makes my stomach clench. Shakily, I get up, sinking into the couch, feeling the hatred and terror seeping through my pores. He doesn't speak as he leans back, pulling a silver device out of his pocket and setting it on the table. I don't know what it is, but it makes me nervous.

I try to stay calm, not to let him see how he gets to me, but I can't hold it in. "Why are you here?" I ask.

"Don't be rude, Johanna" he scolds, shaking his head. "Then again, I suppose you never were one for niceties, so why don't we set those aside? We need to have a serious conversation."

"We have nothing to talk about" I spit. Every muscle in my body is tensed, ready to run, to attack, to kill. There's nothing in this room of value. I could grab one of the wine glasses on the table between us and smash it into his face, but I don't think they'd stand up to the strain of murder.

"You think you have evaded me, Johanna. You have ignored my summons and requests; you have shown yourself to be quite stubborn. Even after the _incident_ with your family, you still fight me."

My skin rises with goosebumps but I feel hot with sweat "and?"

" _And_ I put up with it. For a time. It's economics, you see. Take a valuable commodity off the market for a time and its value increases. But my patience has run out." He leans forward, pressing a button on the silver device, that suddenly comes to life. It takes me a second to understand what I'm looking at. Images hang in the air between us, images of my family. "Your sister was never supposed to die" he says, gazing thoughtfully at the pictures of their charred bodies, hardly recognizable amongst the ash.

Snow stares at me, making me feel hot under his gaze. "What do you mean?"

"I had meant for her to survive. You see, I don't like to put all my cards in one hand. But things happen, and she got in the way. Unfortunately, she perished with your father and brother. She's a spitfire. I see where she gets it from. Tried to attack one of the Peacekeepers. You'll be relieved to know that it was a bullet to the head that ended her, not the flames." He switches the images on the screen from the charred bodies, to Lily. She lies on the ground, the side of her head blown open with blood and brains strewn around her. Her eyes are still open, and her blonde hair is dyed as crimson as the man's.

"I don't want to see that" I whisper, my voice sounding so small. The image makes me dizzy and I can feel the vomit rising in my throat. He's torturing me.

"But you need to" he leans back, sitting up straight now. "I want you back, Johanna. You remember the pain of losing them. You think there's nothing worse I could throw at you but I assure you that you're wrong. I _know you_. Derek, Finnick, you love them, and yes, I would hate to have them disposed of, but you don't want to see them in pain. _Their_ pawns, Adele, Annie, they are now yours. Take one more step out of line and I will make sure they know whose fault it is their loved ones are dead. Do you understand?"

I don't say anything. I stare down at my hands in my lap, black dots swirling in my vision. I'm shaking with rage and, now, with fear.

The blow comes suddenly. He's leaned forward and hit me across the face so fiercely that it throws me to the side. He walks around the table, taking me by my hair and sitting me up. He sits down beside me, his hand still tightly wrapped in my hair.

He holds his face close to mine; So near that the stench of roses and blood is enough to make me gag. "You will listen to Johanna, no matter how much you don't want to."

"Why are you doing this to me?" my words are full of agony and grief. "I'll kill you, I'll kill you for this. I swear to God; one day you'll pay." My vision is swimming with fury and the pain in my head.

"I doubt that" his voice is cold. With his free hand he changes the images projected before us. "I hear you had a boyfriend? Vinicus Silva? What a shame you two broke up, what a shame… I wonder if you still have feelings for him?"

"No" I hiss, trying to pull against his grasp, but he holds me in place. Tears of rage rise behind my eyes but I won't let them fall.

"No? Then I hope it isn't too terribly sad for you to hear he had an accident this morning. I hate to inform you that he didn't make it." He pulls my head around, forcing me to watch the projection. It's Vinny, _my Vinny_. A troop of four Peacekeepers jump him, throwing him to the ground and beating him, pummeling him until there's little more than a bloody stump where his face should be.

"Stop it!" I scream, the tears breaking free and pouring down my face. "Stop it please!" I reach up, trying to pull his hand away but it just makes him grab my wrists and slam them back down. I can't watch this. I can't watch Vinny die.

"You did this. They could all be alive" he hisses into my ear.

He pulls me to my feet, my back held tightly against him so that I have nowhere to go. I want nothing more than to kill him, than to make him bleed, but I know better. There's surely a troop of Peacekeepers outside the door, I won't get any farther than making them laugh. I stand there, half catatonic in shock.

"Take care of your friends, Johanna" he says, making me pause. "Take care of Derek, and take care of our dear Finnick. So fragile they are…" My skin burns where he touches it.

"Don't think I won't hesitate to send them to their graves. Do not test my patience. I am not a forgiving man, and you can't afford another mistake."

He throws me down. I fall into the glass table, the force making it shatter beneath me. Glass cuts into my skin, a searing pain digging into my bare thigh. "I hope we've reached an understanding."

He strides out of the room, the door opening for him. I lie there for a minute, my head pounding. In the brief moment that I can see into the hall, the white uniforms of Peacekeepers stare back at me. But amidst them, is another face. Plutarch Heavensbee. I thought he was on our side. That's what Finnick said. Our eyes meet for only a second until the door slams closed and I'm left alone in the dark. It feels like someone shoved cotton into my ears. Even with the glass cutting into my skin, I won't dare move until I know he's gone.

Ten, fifteen minutes later, I finally sit up. Glass has dug into my palm and arm, but worst is my leg. Without pants, my skin was entirely exposed. The wine glasses dug into my thigh, leaving a huge bloody gash down my left leg. I don't bother getting dressed, I couldn't care less. Instead I stumble from the room, making my way towards the elevator, but I hardly make it a few steps before I collapse to the floor, sobs raking my body. My whole body trembles with the force of gagging. The images, the recordings, they're all swirling in my mind, refusing to leave me alone. I never wanted to see that. I've pictured it thousands of times but to actually see it… it's horrendous

"Johanna?" a voice calls. My head is buried between my knees, but I look up enough to see Brenda of all people coming towards me. She kneels in front of me, shock hanging her mouth open as she takes me in. Instead of running for help, she pulls a large shard of glass out of my thigh, tossing it to the floor behind her. "Come on" she murmurs, taking me by the arms and pulling me to my feet.

I grit my teeth together, trying to slow the gasping but I can't catch my breath. "Leave me alone" I hiss, but she ignores me. I try to push her away but she holds tight. She takes me to my room, for once a place I'm relieved to be. Gently, she sits me on my bed before getting some wet towels and pulls out as much of the glass as she can while I sit there, useless and sobbing. She even has to steady me as I get to my feet, vomiting everything in my stomach into the toilet.

The cut on my leg is definitely the worst of my injuries. Already there's a bruise forming on my cheekbone that makes my stomach clench. "Well, I think I got it all" she sighs. "It's going to hurt though." She stands up, brushing her hands on her pants and throwing the towels into the bathroom.

"You don't have to help me" I mumble as she goes to leave. "But thank you" I whisper, barely loud enough to hear.

Her face is kind as she looks at me. I would never have guessed our positions would have switched in just a few days' time. This is Snow's fault. We wouldn't have to take care of each other like this if it wasn't for Snow.

"Goodnight" I whisper, pulling my blankets up to my head and curling into a tight ball.

She wipes at her eyes, at tears I never saw, "goodnight Johanna."

"Please don't tell anyone" I choke out, another sob breaking forth.

"I won't if you won't" she puts her hand on the door knob, opening the door a few inches. "Next time I won't do this. I expect you to leave me on the floor, too. I can't get involved in whatever this is. I hope you understand"

"Never again" I agree. She shouldn't have helped me and I shouldn't have helped her. Friendships are dangerous, help is even worse.

She slips out of the door and I'm left alone.

I lie there in the dark, trying and failing to hold myself together.

I'm back in his grasp. Once again, I am Snow's plaything, to be bought and sold and enslaved at his whim. Once again, he wins, and I'm left shattered into a million pieces.

In the morning, as much as I want to stay in bed and never move again, I force myself to my feet. I shower with the hottest water I can stand, not moving until my skin is raw and I can't smell the roses or blood.

In the mirror, the bruise isn't bad, but it's noticeable. My palms have little cuts all over, where I pushed myself up. But my leg's cut is deep and angry. I breathe deeply, starring at it for a long time before digging clothes out of my closet.

Memories swirl around in my head as I ride the elevator down to the control room. The pictures of Lily, her head blown apart. The three of them, charred and blackened and unrecognizable. Then Vinny, beaten and bloody and utterly dead. They're dead, every last one of them. I shouldn't cry for them, or let them hurt me, but I can't help it. Snow knows how to beat me. I'm so goddamn transparent. If I want to survive, I have to follow his rules, which kills me even more. Because the fact is he _won't_ just kill me. He'll destroy the whole goddamn world just to bring me to my knees.

He's smarter than I thought. Derek and Finnick are the two most important people in my life, maybe the only ones I actually care about anymore. He wouldn't kill them, not before killing everyone else. Even with Derek, people would be distraught. The Capitol loves their Victors.

When I get into the control room, most people do double glances. They think they know where the bruise came from, but they have no idea. It's Enobaria that stares, her eyes vicious and alive. "You want to stare?" I growl at her. "Don't hold back" I smile despite the tug of pain from the remaining pieces of glass. She makes a face like I'm crazy but I don't care.

Derek isn't here, which makes me feel better. But Finnick is. He's out of his chair and in front of me in seconds. "What happened?" he asks, his thumb brushing over my check. _He_ knows I didn't go out last night.

I jerk my head at the door, turning and leading him into the hall. I know the cameras will catch what I tell him, but it's only the other Victors I don't want to hear.

"Snow came last night" I whisper, leaning my head against the wall.

" _What_?" Finnick hisses. I can see the fear light up in his eyes.

"He killed Vinny" I add, closing my eyes against the tears.

"Oh, Jo" he sighs. He pulls me against him, letting me breathe in the scent of soap and salt on his skin. "I'm so sorry."

"He got me back, Finnick" I choke against his shoulder, "I thought I was free." He strokes my hair, holding me ever tighter. "He threatened me, threw me into a table. I couldn't do anything."

"I'm so sorry" he whispers into my hair.

He holds me for a long time, long past when my breathing becoming slow and my heartbeat steady. I don't push him away; it's comforting being held.

"What did I miss?" I ask, finally breaking away from him.

He looks at me cautiously. "Twelve dead. Peeta got a kill."

I look back at him, surprised. "Well, then we'd better get back in there."


	69. Chapter 69

"It's the possibility of having a dream come true that makes life interesting"

~Paulo Coelho, _The Alchemist_

"Come on" Finnick says, standing to block my view of the television screens

He offers his hand to me but I bat it away "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. Both our tributes are dead. We'll hear if anything happens" he raises his eyebrows at me and I know he's won.

"Whatever" I roll my eyes.

Finnick has his arm protectively over my shoulder as he pulls me from the control room to the elevator. It's midafternoon but I'm completely exhausted. His shoulder is warm as I lean against it.

The sun is bright in Finnick's living room. I lie on the couch, my head propped up with two pillows while he pulls the blinds closed. I close my eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in my head and burning in my leg.

I pull my feet up to make room for Finnick. The sound of a seal opening makes me look up, propping myself on my elbow. Finnick drinks straight out of the vodka bottle before handing it to me. I sit up before sucking down a few gulps. With everything swimming in my head right now, I can't be sober. If Snow is going to sell me off again, I'll be damned if I face it clear-headed. I keep drinking until the edges of my vision are blurry and the pain seems a bit more dull. My hands shake as I hold the bottle back out to Finnick.

 _Vinny._

 _His hands are desperate, and all the while gentle as he runs his fingers down my spine, sending tingles through my body._

 _"Tell me to stop" he whispers, goosebumps rising on my neck._

 _"Don't stop" I kiss him, my fingers pulling at the waistband of his pants. It's dark with the blinds drawn and light off, but I don't need to see._

I drink again, already reaching the end of the first bottle before Finnick pulls out another one.

 _Jonathan pushes my shoulder with a laugh, making me stumble off the dirt path. I glare at him, trying to push him back but he's too big and just pulls me to him, enveloping me in a hug._

A courier comes sometime in the evening, with Finnick's, and now my, summons. I crumple it and throw it to the floor, downing in as much of the searing liquid as I can. I want them out of my head. Their faces, their laughter, it swirls around, threatening to suffocate me.

I sway dangerously when I finally stand up. My voice feels disconnected as I stumble with Finnick into the elevator; my drunken laughter feels alien. Even the pain of being in a car, shunting through the Capitol, just seems like a joke.

"Johanna?" my Capitol patron seems confused by my appearance. I'm wasted, with bruises and cuts all over. I must look like a disaster. Not that it seems to bother him for too long.

I face the man, my mind wonderfully fuzzy, "drink" I whisper into his ear "drink with me."

"This way" he smiles.

"Yes" I cheer when he pulls out wine. He has to open the bottle for me, but I snatch it from him, taking a long drink before handing it back, my eyebrows raised dauntingly. He laughs, taking several long pulls himself.

Once he's drunk, though not quite as far gone as I am, he slinks his arm around my waist, holding me to him. His kiss is sloppy and slow and all tongue. It's gross, but I just laugh against him.

I finish the bottle, tossing it over my head where it breaks somewhere on the floor. The man follows the noise but doesn't stay distracted long. He kisses me heavily before reaching under my shirt with groping hands. He pulls it over my head and I don't stop him, I'm focusing on staying on my feet. He drags his lips from my mouth, down my neck, to my breasts and back up again. It makes my skin tingle.

I lean back against the bar, wrapping my arms around the man's neck. In a swift movement I pull his shirt over his head, leaving nothing but skin for me to dig my fingernails into. He kisses at my neck while I fumble with his belt and pants, clumsily undoing them.

His eyes are alight with excitement as he pulls me forward, lifting me by my waist so that I'm sitting on the counter, my legs wrapped around his waist. His kisses become more and more sloppy as the alcohol takes effect. His hands are rough when he pushes my dress up around my waist, pulling my hips closer to the edge.

The counter is cold and brings goosebumps to my skin. We're both drunk enough that we fumble along, like children for the first time. We go fast, seemingly desperate for each other even though we've never met.

"You like that?" he whispers in my ear as he runs his hands up my legs.

"My legs are cold."

"Do you want to move to the bedroom?"

"Obviously," I murmur, aware of how badly it slurs.

"This way."

I keep my hands wrapped around his neck as he lifts me down off the counter and pulls me with him through the mansion. He pulls my arms away, choosing instead to lead me by my hand. My head swims as we walk, a strange thought popping into my head. _He's holding my hand_. He even intertwined his fingers inn mine, like we were anything more than a one-night stand. The room isn't far, and soon we're back in action. I hold him close, not letting him see my face. I pinch my eyes close, suddenly aware of the heavy tears.

They don't fall as long as my eyes are closed. The booze, the sex, it's supposed to take the pain away. It did, for a little while, but just as suddenly its back. I've never been free, and I never will be. "I've wanted this for so long" he whispers into my neck.

 _Don't cry_ I beg myself. I'm ashamed enough to be here, let alone to break down my first night back. I let my cries out, letting him mistake them for pleasure. I dig my fingers into his skin, clenching my eyes shut for all the fear in the world.


	70. Chapter 70

"I don't believe in closure. What does it really mean? Does it mean the closing of a door, the locking up of memories, the refusal to allow a flow of consciousness that may involve some measure of grief?"

~Diane Rehm, _On My Own_

I don't bother putting myself together before going down to the control room in the morning. Finnick looks exhausted but Haymitch is atrocious. I don't think he's left the room since the Games began.

"Thanks" I whisper, taking coffee from Finnick as he sits in the open chair next to me. "What happened?"

He shrugs, looking over at Haymitch before the screens. The coffee burns my throat as I watch, Katniss being my only view. She stumbles, her lips dry and peeling. From sight alone I know she's weak and dying.

"Is she going to make it?" I ask Finnick. On the map made available to us, she's so close to water, but she wouldn't know it.

No one in the room says much. The Careers, other than Finnick, aren't here to taunt Haymitch. The rest of us either are watching in horror or have enough respect not to say anything. It won't be a battle that kills her, but nature. I cling to my mug as she stops, looking up at the sky, cameras scrambling to get the most direct view of her face. "Water" she begs, her voice raspy from dehydration.

I turn to look at Haymitch, his hands pulling at his hair. She has no idea. He has enough to send her water, but if she can just make it a _little_ farther, she'll make it. She might need that sponsor money later.

"Dammit" Haymitch hits the table. "Figure it out, sweetheart" he pleads with her through the screen. I stand up, walking over to stand beside him, peering down at his tribute specific screens. If she doesn't catch on, she won't make it much longer. Probably not even through the night.

She gets up, pushing ever onward. I respect her perseverance, but after another two hours, I can see her giving up. I keep expecting her to fall, but she never does. I'm on edge, silently willing her to keep going. Haymitch won't let me get a word in when I try to talk him into sending her something. Not even Finnick can change his mind.

"She's too damn close" he says firmly, but I see the doubt in his eyes "she can figure this out." People must be losing their minds in the streets, wondering why he won't help her.

Peeta and the Careers are at a river that runs into the lake in front of her. They're far enough away that I don't think they'll notice her – not as long as she gets some water. I have no doubt that the Gamemakers will push them towards her if she falls.

Haymitch jumps to his feet when she stops. "Get up!" he screams, making me flinch. She's dying. A few minutes and her cannon will go off and with it, the briefest hope of rebellion. I want to scream at Haymitch, to slap him in the face and force him to save her, but I stay silent. I sit in my seat, watching him plead with the screen.

"Not as good as you thought she was" I growl, rolling my eyes and standing to leave. I don't need to be here to watch her die.

Haymitch is so upset that he doesn't even acknowledge me. He's pacing in front of his station, chewing his fingernails to bloody nubs. "Come on, sweetheart" he whispers finally, sounding defeated.

Almost as if she could hear him, her eyes open. I halt in the middle of the room, my feet rooted in place as she moves, pushing herself to her knees, and finally to her feet. She's doing it, she's getting up! I let out a breath of relief when she slides into the water.

Shaking with my own anticipation, I'm shocked when she has the strength and restraint to purify the water before drinking it. I wouldn't have thought to do that, not that I ever had the chance. But I also was never that desperate.

The Careers are still close, but far enough way that she should be safe for a few hours. Smartly, she settles herself into a tree. She has so much confidence climbing that I could've thought she was from District 7 if I didn't know better.

The recap plays above her – no deaths today. The Gamemakers will be doing something soon to change that, and with Katniss's proximity to the Careers, it sets me on edge. That's what almost killed me, boredom in the Capitol that made them sick the Mutt on me, and push the Careers to me, much like her.

Katniss falls asleep, as do most of the other tributes. One more day gone.


	71. Chapter 71

**Sorry about my inconsistent posting! I'm a nurse at a fairly large hospital and work schedule has been all kinds of crazy. Not to mention that I'm fostering a litter of kittens and finally sending them all to their homes. Thank you for all your support!**

"We accept the love we think we deserve"

~Stephen Chbosky, _The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

I swirl wine in my glass, watching the bloody liquid tornado around itself. Getting back from my _rendezvous_ with a new man early, I find myself sitting near Haymitch, watching the Games. It's well into the night and the Careers are out hunting.

I sit with my legs tucked under me, sleep weighing on my eyes. I can't go to bed yet, I'm not ready for it. It's a sick feeling, being someone's possession. I'm treated less than human. Tonight, I never even said a word, and neither did my owner. I didn't matter, as long as I was unclothed and compliant. I want to think that I mean _something_ , _anything_ more than just sex.

The screen bursts into flames. It happens so suddenly that all of us in the control room jump to attention. It starts small, as a few bunches of grass, but quickly engulfs the forest, spreading in seconds. The Gamemakers have added their flare. They've given their push.

Katniss isn't the only tribute to wake up to the inferno, but she's the only one I care to watch. It's nothing the Games haven't done before, but I can feel my heart racing as she sprints through the trees. I flinch myself when the first fireball hits, searing her leg.

Finnick bursts in just as she dives out of the way of another incoming fireball. He hands me a muffin, which I take, both of us staring at the screen in horror. "What happened?"

"Gamemakers" I murmur. He pulls over a chair, nodding at Haymitch as he sits. He puts his hand on my wrist, making me notice how tightly my hands are clenched. They can't kill her so soon after her last brush with death.

But she runs, and she runs fast. I'm sure to her it must feel like an eternity, but in less than three minutes, she's out of firing range. Only when I'm sure she's safe and out of the fire do I relax. The burn is bad, but she'll survive as long as it doesn't get infected. Finnick wants to go to bed, but I refuse. He talks me into at least sitting on one of the long, black couches instead of the still chairs. Within minutes he's asleep, his head on my shoulder with the smell of alcohol and smoke thick in his hair.

At some point, I fall asleep too. It's the sound of yelling and cussing that I wake up to. Brenda is stalking out of the room, shooting me and Finnick and furious glare, while Haymitch is slamming his hand into the table over and over. Enobaria, Jens, Gloss, and Cashmere are standing together, cheering to spite them.

Dread pulses through my veins. I jump to my feet, Finnick close behind as I get to Haymitch's station in a few long strides. Katniss is writhing on the ground, thrashing in the underbrush. Glancing at other screens I see the tracker jackers. _Shit_. On Haymitch's other side, Peeta is sprinting towards Katniss, his face alight with terror.

The girl from 4 is dead, hence Brenda's fury. The rest of the Careers have fled and unfortunately seem mostly unharmed. I bite into my lip, watching tensely as Katniss falls unconscious. When the little girl from 11 shows up, I turn away. She should kill Katniss, but she doesn't. She helps her. Hides her. It's a debt that's hard to repay.

She's a better person than me. In my games, I had the chance to do the same. That girl, bleeding and dying on the ground… I could have helped her, but instead I slit her throat. It never even occurred to me to do otherwise.

I turn and walk away. I can't watch it anymore. I'm surprised to see Finnick following me, his hands shoved into his pockets. We go to my floor instead of his, to let Brenda cool off. Finnick says Mags is better to help her anyway. The distance in his eyes let me know that he's deep in thought, the same thing reflected on my face. "Is she going to die?" I ask, not looking at him.

"Probably. Tracker Jackers are… evil things" he says, his voice distant.

I sigh, running my hand through my hair. Sudden exhaustion weighs down on me. I can't keep going through this, the waiting for her to die to only have her survive. I lay my head on his shoulder, tucking my knees up to my chest so that they lie against his arm.

"It's so much harder this year" I murmur. "So many of them deserve to live." They're too young, too innocent. Katniss. Peeta. Rue. Thresh. All of them and they'll die anyway. "It hurts so much, Finnick. I don't know if I can do this much longer."

"It is" Finnick agrees, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pressing his lips against my hair. "I had a boy get reaped two years before you won… he was strong, and smart, and kind, and could have won. He didn't, of course, but God… I wanted him to. He was really well known at home, too. Annie liked him, Mags told me I had to bring him home. I let them all down. Annie was the only reason I made it through that year, and the year after when she was reaped. I love her, I do but… I didn't think I was enough. She isn't out here with me; I can't go to her when I need her. But then you showed up, Jo. If it means anything, I need you."

I reach out and take his hand, holding it tightly. I don't deserve him. I don't deserve a friend like him.

"She has no idea" I say sadly "what winning will be like. She doesn't know what she's getting herself into." Sex, drugs, pain, terror – she'll be one of us if she wins and we're not a club anyone wants to be a part of. The brave rebel will be gone in a few years. Snow will take her sister, and she'll be stuck here with the rest of us.

"She'll wish she never won" he confirms. It's a thought all of us had at some point or another. "We might kill her."

"We will" I say, "we definitely will."

We both fall silent, listening only to the sounds of each other's breathing until my eyes begin to droop. "Finnick?" I mutter sleepily.

"Hmm?"

"I'm going to kill them. Every last one of them."

Finnick's silent for a moment. Slowly, he gets to his feet, pulling me up after him. "You'll have to fight me for it."

I roll my eyes but smile in response. Still holding onto my hand, he pulls me with him to the bedroom, where we both fall into bed. I'm asleep within minutes, but that doesn't stop the nightmares from pressing against me.

It must be at least a few hours later when I jerk awake, sweat drenching the sheets around me. I sit up slowly, glancing at a still fast asleep Finnick. I must not have screamed. Or at least it wasn't enough to wake him.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, I push the blankets away and get to my feet. I stare at Finnick as I tiptoe across the room and crack the door open. He doesn't even stir as I pull the door closed behind me.

The whole building feels different at night, when everyone is asleep. I sink into the couch, turning so that I face the city twinkling below. Even now and then I can hear the faint sounds of cars and music and yelling. It's almost like a dream.

I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes, trying to erase the images of blood that linger there. It doesn't help any more than making it so that, when I open my eyes, the images are stained in my vision.

"Jo?"

I flinch, surprised to hear anything, least of all a voice in the middle of the night.

"Sorry" Finnick adds.

Turning slightly, I can see him standing there, eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"I thought you were asleep" I grumble, leaning my arms against my folded legs. Apparently I wasn't as quiet as I thought I was.

He shrugs, running his hand over his forehead sleepily. "Not really."

"Yeah well, join the club" I say dryly, turning back around where, down on the streets below, a group of four is stumbling up the sidewalk.

I can hear his footsteps as he moves closer but he never sits down. I wonder what must be going through his head. He knows more than me, he always has, even now. It's been easy enough to see his anxiety these last few days. Somewhere out there, beyond the city limits, is someone who might be able to change that. It's a long shot, but it's impossible not to hope for it.

"It's crazy" Finnick says after a few moments. The comment makes me pause. That would be the understatement of the year.

"No kidding" I scoff, still tracking the group down below. One of them, a woman I think based on the enormous hat, stumbles enough that she falls flat. The others with her pull her up and I swear from up here I can hear them laughing.

I don't look away when I feel the couch cushions shift as Finnick sits. His breaths are quiet but ragged and, from the corner of my eye, I can see him run his hands over his face.

"Nightmare?" I ask.

Finnick grunts in response.

Sighing, I turn around once again to face him. He meets my eyes, which are cloudy and exhausted. "I'm taking that as a yes."

"It's just…" Finnick sighs, shaking his head. "I don't know what it is."

I roll my eyes but nod my agreement. "It's not like you to be lost for words."

His attention turns from my face, focusing instead on the window behind me. I press my lips together, following his gaze to the now empty street below. The group I was watching is gone. Now, it's abandoned. If I didn't know better, it would almost look peaceful.

Letting out a breath from my nose, I shift in my seat, scooting closer to Finnick. I know he had nightmares, the cloudiness in his eyes tells me as much. But I also know he's worried, anxious about what might be happening. In an instinctual motion, I reach out and touch his forearm. We don't say much, just sit there, staring out into the city as, slowly, the sun works its way over the distant horizon and peeks between the skyscrapers.

Finally, Finnick shifts. "Do you like District 7?"

The question takes me by surprise, but knowing Finnick, he's probably on some deep train of thought. I shrug, smiling down at my lap. "I guess so. Don't really know anything else."

"Would you stay there… if you had a choice?" he asks thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Not really something I think about."

He nods, still trailing some unknown thought. I watch him curiously as he stares into space, his eyes flitting back and forth every few seconds.

"What about you? You _love_ District 4?"

"Sure I do."

I sigh, ducking my head away from the window and slowly lightening sky. I get to my feet, turning to face Finnick who's watching me. I hold out my hand to him, offering up a small smile. "Come on Gorgeous, you need your beauty sleep."

He lets me pull him up but he doesn't follow when I start back towards the bedroom.

"I don't know what to do, Jo."

I peer at him curiously, surprised how the confession almost makes me laugh. "Me neither."

With that, I turn on my heel back into the dark.

The bar is hot as Finnick and I sit there, drinking. Just a few nights ago I was here, drinking and flirting, eventually having sex in another room when Snow showed up. But tonight that won't happen. I roll my hair between my fingers, glancing at the faces of Capitol patrons around the room. They watch us, some having the nerve to approach and to try to strike up a conversation, but we shoot them down each time. I'm not in the mood for pretending to be nice. Finnick is the singular person I can tolerate, and we talk softly.

Enobaria, Gloss, and Glimmer are at a booth in the back, a few Capitol men with them. I'm sure they're milking them for money, gushing about their tributes and playing up their beauty and ferocity. I still don't know why anyone likes Enobaria's pointed teeth. They're monstrous. Then again, so are the people that live here.

It's public, but no one seems to care. I've never been subjected to it, but Finnick's told me about how he, and other Victors, often meet their nightly patrons here, drinking before going to their mansions, or just screwing in the back somewhere and heading their separate ways.

Near one of the more concealed booths in the back, I notice a tall, angry looking Capitol man. He stands over Anita, the young Victor from 5 who won three years before me; his hands are locked around her wrists. It's a gesture I'm familiar with, but the fear in her face it what makes me stop and watch. There are tears in her eyes as he pulls her with him, tossing her roughly into the booth.

I shove away from the bar, slamming my drink down before turning towards the booth. I'll be damned if I'll let him get away with it. In the two minutes it takes for me to push past my clamoring fans, the privacy curtain has already been pulled, and when I yank it back, Anita has her dress hiked up past her thighs with the man's hands reaching under it.

I don't hesitate. The sight fills me with fury, making me reach forward and grab the man by the shoulder, yanking him backwards off his feet. "Don't touch her" I hiss.

He stumbles, shocked by the interruption. When he turns to look at me, his face contorted with rage, I see the hesitation. I'm a Victor, the last person he expected. It doesn't matter though. I don't have time to react when he shoves me hard into the wall.

The anger doesn't let me feel it. I punch him in the face, pain shooting down my arm on impact. When he stumbles, I bring my knee up, digging it into his groin.

"Johanna?" Finnick runs over, pulling me away. The man is bent over, cussing violently in pain. Anita has sat up and smoothed down her dress to cover herself – her face covered in tears.

"You don't get to do that you piece of shit" I spit, ready to break his neck, but Finnick holds me.

The man recovers enough to stand up, his attention focused on me, but I notice him look over at Anita. "Who the hell do you think you are?" he growls "you bitch; you don't tell me what I can or can't do. Maybe I'll take you instead, I'm sure I can work something out with President. Snow-"

He never finishes his sentence because Finnick snaps to life, slamming his fist into the man's jaw with more force than I could ever muster. "Stop talking" he says coolly, shaking his hand lightly. My mouth hangs open in surprise. Finnick is strong, I've always known that, but he hasn't been a fighter, not physically. "Get out of here" he says, his voice like ice. The man practically runs, getting the attention of the few people who hadn't yet stopped to stare.

Anita moves for the first time, standing and pulling her dress all the way down. I take her by the arm, leading her through the crowd gently as Finnick leads the way. "I'm sorry" she cries once we're away from the crowd. "You shouldn't have done that. It's not the first time…"

"Stop" I let go of her arm "I didn't do it for you."

"What?" her voice trembles. She's confused as we've never even spoken to each other before, so why would I defend her? Pulling that man off her was for me. if I couldn't save myself, I might as well save someone else. If I can't hurt my attackers, I'll hurt someone else's.

"Don't worry about it" I murmur, slamming my fist into the elevator button.

She wipes at her tears and Finnick talks to her kindly. He offers to go in with her, to help her at least get ready for bed but she refuses. I cross my arms, frowning down at my feet. How will any of us ever rebel against the Capitol? If this is who we were, broken, crying victims, maybe it's better if we just give up.


End file.
